


on life, loving, and some cat ears

by frosmxths



Category: ONEUS (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Catboys, M/M, Magical Realism, Other hinted/side pairs, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, Various tbz/onewe/other cameos and appearances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:40:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 56,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25869811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frosmxths/pseuds/frosmxths
Summary: The letter—he glances at it again, hands grabbing the lid of the box at the same time—had also seemed strangely honest, a little too much to be teasing, too many little hearts and little cat doodles on the paper to be something besides honest.Confused doesn’t even cut it—he feels like he’s been suddenly shoved headfirst into some alternate reality and, while Seoho would love for that to happen, he would really like it to not be when he has a mini showcase the next week.___Change in Seoho's life starts with a black cat by Seoho's building-- then it's a package and letter on his window on the third floor, then it's more letters and a cute guy in a beanie. But change doesn't mean all that much- life goes on as it is, there's just something else.
Relationships: Kim Youngjo | Ravn/Lee Seoho, Son Dongju | Xion/Yeo Hwanwoong
Comments: 25
Kudos: 115





	on life, loving, and some cat ears

**Author's Note:**

> this is rated t for sex jokes im not even gonna lie. also for swearing.
> 
> there is a single joking mention of a dead bird pls watch out for that if its upsetting.
> 
> sorry for the wonky formatting in the texting me and ao3s html are not friends

Seoho’s tired.

Not only mentally drained, stress of his classes and dancing taking a heavy toll on him— seeping through his thoughts and bones, leaving him heavy and drowned in a state of lethargy— heavy, much like a rug that absorbed too much water (dripping and losing its shape— dyed in ugly darkness and the smell of pooled water).

Not only was he tired and heavy like that, he was also physically exhausted. He’d taken late night classes as a way to work with his insomnia, afternoons taken by dance classes and singing lessons, rare free evening occupied with TA work he had agreed to in disbelief, weekends full of assignments and practice and grading (once in a while, when the professor gave him a pile of assignments to skim through— leave notes on for the next week).

He was tired— drained, ready to throw himself in bed and forget about the day (look at his phone in the dark until the sun came out and his body simply gave up from exhaustion).

His legs hurt as he crosses the street, keys digging into his hand inside his pocket to keep him awake. Wind hits his face, blows his hair back and over his eyes, and he wonders why he didn’t bother bringing a scarf or hat when it’s almost winter.

(It’s because he’s dumb).

The sidewalk under his feet echoes off every step, sound soft and breaking the silence of the streets at midnight on this side of the city. He shivers, digs his hands further into his pockets when he feels icy wind get stronger, slice at his eyes and ears. His building is the next one over, so he ignores the pain in his legs to walk faster, get home sooner. His bangs get blown into his eyes again, sharp small prickles making him blink (he wonders if it’s about time for him to get a haircut— wonders if it’s really been that long since he got his bangs trimmed— he’s not been very good at keeping track of time lately).

He reaches the glass door to his building after a few more steps, sighs against the collar of his coat. He rubs at his eyes with the back of one hand, pulls his keys out with the other. The streetlights are on, dull warm light towards both sides of the door— but the building itself is mostly dark, only a small white light on and shining behind the door. Seoho sighs quietly, puts the key in and turns it, _click click_ of it unlocking almost soothing to his ears. He pushes the door open, is about to step inside fully intent on dragging his feet to the damn elevator, when he catches movement out of the corner of his eye— a shadow under the streetlight to his right.

He lets go of the door’s handle, makes sure to slip his keys back inside his pocket before he turns around towards the shadow, leaving the door half open.

Maybe it wasn’t his best course of action, but Seoho was curious (and tired), he really didn’t care.

Also, he has no sense of self—preservation (Hwanwoong yells at him a lot for that one).

At first, he doesn’t see anything— the sidewalk is empty, and so is the street. He looks up, wonders if maybe it had been some kind of night bird that had decided to show up.

He blinks, looks at the streetlight, blinks again, sighs.

He really needs to sleep— maybe just close his eyes for some time, at least, they’re already playing tricks on him. He rubs at them, turns back around to push the door open again—

And stops, a quiet ‘meow’ reaching his ears, coming from somewhere by his feet.

He looks down, finds wide green eyes and black fur looking up at him.

A cat.

A cat? He’s never seen cats around. Did a neighbour adopt one, lately? He doesn’t remember that. He’s pretty sure the building doesn’t allow pets, even.

Curious, he drops, too tired to do anything but fall to his knees on the sidewalk in front of the cat. It doesn’t move, wide eyes staring at Seoho, whiskers twitching.

The black cat meows again, raises its head, sniffs in Seoho’s direction with curious eyes. Seoho watches its ears and nose twitch, smiles to himself, reaches out a hand. The cat takes half a step back, and Seoho stops his hand right by the cat’s nose. The cat blinks, one paw up in the air as it sniffs Seoho’s hand carefully, whiskers and fur tickling him. Seoho laughs quietly, smile widening when the cat rubs against his palm, quiet and content purring against Seoho’s skin.

“Are you hungry?” He rubs his fingers against the top of the cat’s head. The cat meows again, and Seoho lets out a tiny laugh. “Maybe I have something…” He vaguely remembers leftover cookies from his depressing lunch earlier, so he reaches inside the bag slung over his shoulder and resting against the floor. He rummages, the cat sitting back on its hind legs, tail swishing from side to side curiously, tip curled into something almost like a question mark. A bag crinkles against Seoho’s hands, and the cat’s tail stills, ears pointed towards the noise, alert. Seoho pulls the package out, waves it a little in front of the cat, then pulls a crumbled cookie out to offer.

“Can you eat this?” The cat walks a couple of steps closer, sniffs the cookie carefully, then looks up at Seoho and tilts its head to the side. Seoho smiles, leaves the cookie on the floor between them. “There, it’s yours now!”

The cat meows quietly, then pokes the cookie with its front paw a couple of times, sniffs it again, pushes it forward— then finally bites into it after struggling to get it off the ground.

Seoho simply sits and watches, package still open in his hands, knees digging against concrete and wind hitting his face.

It’s cold.

He looks down at the package, shakes it a little bit, watches as the cat’s ears twitch as it eats. He leaves another cookie on the floor, then the whole package next to it. The cat shakes its head, gets back to eating without a care, and Seoho reaches a hand out to stroke its head again with a smile.

“Aren’t you cold?” the cat’s nose twitches, and Seoho laughs. “Cause I’m cold” He reaches to close his bag up again, then puts his hands on the floor as he waits for the cat to finish.

“Your fur looks warm” The cat’s tail swishes as it eats, Seoho’s voice cheerful in enveloping silence.

“Are you done?” The package crinkles one more time as the cat licks at it before moving away, sitting back again in front of Seoho, whiskers twitching against the wind. Seoho picks up the wrapping, shoves it in his pocket. He stretches his arms up, lets out a noise as he does so, loud against the night. The cat yawns, and Seoho gives it a little head pat and gets up on his feet.

“G’night” The cat rubs against his legs and meows again, purring. Seoho smiles at it, laughs a little again. “Take care, kitty!” It meows again, and Seoho pushes through the door and walks inside the building. He waves at the cat through the glass, watches as its tail twitches with its nose, yawning again. The cat shakes its head, stretches, meows at the door one last time and walks away. Seoho smiles, turns around, quietly breathes out the lyrics to some song as he walks and waits for the elevator.

————

“Hyung?” Seoho’s note sure _when_ , but he must’ve made it to bed and fallen asleep at some point, because, next thing he knows, Hwanwoong’s standing next to his bed, hair messy and eyes sleepy. Seoho makes a noise in reply, and Hwanwoong takes a second to process before he yawns, runs a hand through the front of his hair and points back and past the door. “Someone? Left something for you” His words are quiet, slurred.

Seoho blinks, tries to get himself more awake, rubs at his eyes with a noise. He’s not expecting anything, no one’s really supposed to be sending him anything— he sits up, stretches his arms, pats Hwanwoong’s head and pulls himself to stand up.

“Thanks for telling” Hwanwoong mumbles a reply, drops on Seoho’s bed. Seoho fixes his pyjama shirt, turns towards his bed and bends to shake Hwanwoong’s shoulder. Hwanwoong whines, and Seoho laughs in a tiny breath. “Is it downstairs?” Hwanwoong shakes his head, frowns with his eyes closed as Seoho shakes him again. “Then?” Seoho stops, moves to poke his face instead. “Wake up, Woongie”

Hwanwoong half-opens his eyes, drags himself to sit up. Seoho takes Hwanwoong’s glasses off, places them at the desk close by. Hwanwoong looks at him, blinks and stares at nothing. Seoho pokes his face again, and Hwanwoong frowns. “Window” Seoho blinks. Hwanwoong closes his eyes, falls back on the bed again, grips at the pillow. “Let me sleep an hour?” Hwanwoong’s words are slurred, tired, and Seoho wonders if maybe he was just now getting home from the dance studio (he had a tendency to do that— overwork, push himself to unattainable perfection until his muscles ached and his breathing ran— until his fever ran too high and Seoho had to drag him back home). He grabs the blanket, pulls it over Hwanwoong.

“I’ll wake you up later” Hwanwoong mumbles a reply, but it’s so sleepy it’s basically nonsense. Seoho grabs a jacket that’s thrown over his chair, heads outside his room to pick up whatever it was that was on—

On… the window?

He stops halfway through shoving his keys into his jacket pocket, mind finally catching up and processing Hwanwoong’s words.

He has a package waiting…on the window.

Surely, he muses, slipping his keys the rest of the way into his pocket. Surely, Hwanwoong had just said whatever in his half-asleep state. Surely, he had meant to say _at the door,_ or maybe _I left it by the window_ , or even _look out the window for it_ ,

Surely, he didn’t mean Seoho’s package was at the window. Had arrived on the window.

They’re on a third floor.

He walks through the living room, looks around— at the table and through hastily thrown papers and plates. There’s nothing— no package or new letters, so he walks towards the door. He unlocks it quickly, opens it and peers outside. Again, there’s nothing.

He frowns, closes the door and walks back towards the living room window. It’s half-open, curtains drawn back on one side. There’s a cool breeze against Seoho’s skin and, there, on the windowsill, is a box.

Huh. What?

Hwanwoong couldn’t have left it there— not because Seoho doesn’t think he would leave it on the windowsill just to bother him (Hwanwoong would), but because, with how half asleep he was, Hwanwoong couldn’t have thought about doing anything but throwing the box on the table and passing out.

Seoho frowns, approaches the window. His eyes carefully scan outside, scan the box and the small envelope taped to the lid of it. There are white feathers, small and messy, sticking out of the tape against the box.

He stops, grabs the box, looks it over carefully.

The envelope has no name outside— no address or anything of the sort (not that it’d need it, Seoho guesses, seeing as it was placed on his _window_ ). He shakes the box, hears cardboard and plastic move inside. He shrugs to himself, glances outside one more time, sees nothing, then pulls the curtains open properly and takes the box to the small dining room table.

He pushes the dirty dishes (no doubt from the day before—he makes a mental note to scold Hwanwoong about at _least_ putting them on the sink once he’s properly awake) aside carefully, hears a paper or two clutter to the floor, then places the box down.

It’s about 30cm by20 cm, and maybe 8cm tall, with a lid in pretty rainbow colours and a faded rose pattern to one side—no doubt hand-painted and pretty. The letter’s taped to the lid with white tape that goes in a cross, all the way to the bottom of all four sides. The white feathers are carefully placed, some crisscrossing under where the tape meets in the middle, clear tape holding them and the letter together; some others are scattered and messily stuck to the tape around the box, soft to the touch and almost delicate in their mess.

Seoho runs his fingers through carboard, tape and feathers softly—stops at the middle, right above the letter. The envelope is white, empty except for a single red rose carefully painted in thin lines and splotches of colour.

Seoho blinks.

What the fuck.

He rummages through the table, papers smooth but scratching against his hand, until he finds a used knife next to a particularly big pile of paper. He picks it up, scrunches his nose at the little remnants of food on it, holds it in two fingers while he searches for something to clean it up with. He spots a napkin, still clean somehow, grabs it with his free hand and passes it over the knife a couple times, extra careful on the edges. Once it’s clean enough, he considers walking to the kitchen and throwing it in the trashcan, but he’s more curious about the box than worried about cleaning, so he dumps it on the table and turns his attention back to the box.

They don’t have scissors, so the knife has to do—tape isn’t hard to cut, at least. He carefully pulls at it at the lower edges of the box on one side until it breaks, then moves on to the next—until he’s done with all four. He drops the knife on the table, then pulls the tape on top of the lid carefully, other hand holding the box to make it easier. Once he’s done, he turns the letter over, rips off most of the length of the tape, folds the excess that sticks out over the paper envelope neatly. The back of the letter is just as empty, only _as thanks_ written in neat and slightly crooked handwriting, a little cat’s paw drawn in at the end.

Whoever this was, Seoho mused, they really liked arts and crafts—judging by the number of hand-drawn things throughout the small package.

He pokes the flap with a finger curiously, feathers lightly tickling the hand where he’s holding the envelope. It lifts up without too much resistance, makes a quiet noise as Seoho pushes it back—then pulls with careful fingers. Inside, there’s a folded-up piece of white paper, and Seoho takes it out and lets the envelope drop back on top of the lid. He grabs a chair, stops, then lets go and grabs the whole box instead, paper carefully placed on top as he walks over to the couch.

He drops down with the box on his lap, leaves the envelope next to him, then unfolds the paper over the box.

There’s not much there, all written in the same handwriting as before, words going up and little hearts drawn at the bottom.

 _Sorry I don’t know what kind you like_ it reads, Seoho tilts his head to the side. _but I bought you chocolate!! As thanks, I hope it’s good_ _♡_

_Also sorry the feathers are so messy ;( I wanted to send the complete bird, but my friend said you maybe wouldn’t like that?? I tried arranging the feathers nicely, but some got stuck on the tape…_

_I hope we can meet again!! You look very tired when I see you, I hope you’re sleeping_

_I don’t know your name, but here’s mine?_

— _Ravn_ _♡_

Seoho squints, reads the name a few more times, runs his hand over the paper and ink.

Who the fuck?

Seoho’s pretty sure that, up until now, he hasn’t _met_ anyone named Ravn, much less helped them out enough for them to place a package on his _window_.

His window on the third floor, let it be noted.

He reads the note again, and, this time, his eyes stop at the bird part.

A bird.

Ravn, whoever they were, nearly sent him a whole _bird_ , presumably dead (unless they had ways to keep a bird still and _alive_ inside a carboard box for however long it took Seoho to get to it)—they had nearly gone up through the walls somehow just to drop a box with a _dead bird._

He nearly got a dead bird. In a box. On his window.

Seoho blinks at nothing, runs a hand through his hair.

He’d shrug it off as some weird prank, but, if it were, that was hell of a lot of effort— and for what? Sure, Seoho’s known for bothering anyone in his vicinity, but he hadn’t had time or brainpower to do anything lately—he can’t think of anyone who’d want revenge to the extent of—

Plus, he thinks as he places the paper over the envelope on the couch, the chocolate was sending him mixed signals—it didn’t feel right, not for a prank, not even for one as _weird_ as this one would be.

The letter—he glances at it again, hands grabbing the lid of the box at the same time—had also seemed strangely honest, a little too much to be teasing, too many little hearts and little cat doodles on the paper to be something besides _honest_.

He tears his eyes away from the paper and brings them to the box, lid cool against his fingers, breeze from the window scratching at his face and neck—carefully, he lifts the lid up, not knowing if to expect actual chocolate or, maybe, slime (or something like that. He feels like people would want to do that to him—send him slime in a box that he’d open after a lot of build-up, with a pretty letter and talk about a boxed bird).

Inside, the box is unassuming and plain, white and void of any of the little drawings or colours on the outside—inside there’s only one thing: a box of chocolate, not the cheapest kind, but not the most expensive; one of those assorted boxes, with milk and dark chocolate with different fillings.

Seoho makes a noise, drops the lid on the couch and picks out the chocolate box. He examines it carefully, looks for any signs of alteration, of weird handling.

There’s nothing.

It’s really just that—a box of chocolates, a nice letter for Seoho, and some bird feathers.

Confused doesn’t even cut it—he feels like he’s been suddenly shoved headfirst into some alternate reality and, while Seoho would love for that to happen, he would really like it to not be when he has a mini showcase the next week.

Escapism is cool and all, but his partners are counting on him—not to mention his job, and classes, and basically everything else he doesn’t really wanna leave behind.

He drops the chocolates on the couch, puts the letter and envelope inside the box, places the lid back on and stands up. He picks the chocolates back up, walks and throws them on the table to eat later (with Hwanwoong, he’d really appreciate the sugar, would probably eat half the box if his stress were to let him) and takes the box to his room.

————

“So” Dongju talks from across the table, hands carefully placed to shield his food from attackers (his brother, who had ordered his own share but was _bound_ to try and take some of Dongju’s for the hell of it). “A box” Seoho nods

“and chocolate” he nods again

“and a letter” Seoho nods, again.

“On your window” Dongju scoots over on his side of the seat as he speaks when Dongmyeong comes back, tray of fries and soda in his hands. Seoho sighs, nods again. “What the fuck?”

Seoho laughs “Yeah, same” He picks a fry from Dongmyeong’s tray, just as Dongmyeong tries to take one off Dongju’s (Dongju whines, pushes him off, struggles in vain as Dongmyeong decides to steal _two_ fries). Dongmyeong laughs (whether at the box deal or at Dongju’s petulant whines about his food, Seoho’s not sure, both twins are demons), munches on one stolen fry before smiling at Dongju and speaking.

“Have you tried asking around?” he waves the other stolen fry between the three of them, and Dongju looks at it like a cat waiting to pounce on its prey “If someone climbed up my walls, I’d think my neighbours would have seen or heard something, y’know”

Seoho simple stares at him, incredulous.

At the same time, Dongju jumps and bites down on the fry, almost on Dongmyeong’s finger, and startles a little yell out of him. Dongju leans back, satisfied grin on his face as he munches, and Dongmyeong smacks him on the arm.

“You could’ve just asked for it” Dongju shakes his head, happy, and grabs a nugget. Seoho snorts.

“I did ask” Dongmyeong turns to him with an eyebrow raised. “my neighbours, I mean” Dongju snorts.

“Don’t they all already think you’re, like” He speaks up over a mouthful of chicken, hand over his mouth to cover up and stop spit from flying to Seoho’s food (he’s grateful, Dongju’s spit is gross). “weird. ‘Cause you never sleep” Seoho rolls his eyes, picks up a fry, menacing.

“Yes” he chucks it at Dongju, who whines and smacks it away, onto Dongmyeong’s tray. Dongmyeong doesn’t even blink at it. “This didn’t help”

“Did they see anything, though?” Dongmyeong picks up the flying fry, bites it.

“No” he frowns “one of them said they saw a cat, that’s it”

“A cat carrying a box” Dongju reaches out for Seoho’s juice, Seoho pulls the cup back. “Possible” Dongju pulls his hand back, rests his elbow on the table and his hand on his palm with a pout. Seoho brings the cup closer, takes a sip of defiance. Dongmyeong shoves his untouched soda at Dongju, and he smiles almost cutely.

“It’d explain the climbing up walls thing” Dongmyeong reasons, Seoho shrugs at that. Dongmyeong’s phone rings with an alarm, and he takes it out of his pocket with a noise. He checks it, then looks at his food, slides the rest of it to Dongju. Dongju simple squints at him, hand that’s not holding his face hovering over fried food with suspicion. Dongmyeong smiles, turn to Seoho. “Hyung” He turns the screen towards Seoho, bright LED telling him that it’s 10 minutes to dance lesson “we gotta go” They’re about 10 minutes away—Seoho figures they’re gonna have to run a bit. He sips the rest of his juice, orange strong against the back of his throat and up to his nose.

“Oh yeah” They’re about to leave when Dongju talks, face seemingly unamused as he lowers the cup of soda he was sipping from “I’m going over later” He gives Seoho a smile, waves the cup from side to side where it is in front of him. “Been meaning to try out the couch”

Seoho snorts so hard his throat starts to hurt, little giggles slipping through his lips. Dongmyeong only looks at his brother in mild horror with his phone in hand.

“I’ll tell Woong to buy con—” Seoho’s voice is lilted with amusement, and Dongmyeong stops him with a hand to his back and a hard push before he goes further.

“No” Seoho breaks into amused cackles, hand covering his mouth, as if that would make it any better (as if the whole damn _place_ weren’t looking at them in a mix of disgust and horror). “I don’t want to hear any more about my brother’s sex life” He pushes Seoho again, and Dongju snorts and spits out some soda on the table “thank you very much” He throws Dongju a glare, Dongju gives him a lazy peace sign, then waves his hand.

“Take care in class!”

Seoho waves bye at him, Dongmyeong simply walks out as Dongju cackles into his cup.

————

When Seoho’s walking home the next morning, eyes tired and having not slept at all, the same black cat is curled up by the building entrance, tail lazily swishing up and behind it. Its ears twitch as Seoho approaches, and it yawns when Seoho crouches down to pet its head. Seoho smiles, holds back and fails to conceal a yawn of his own under his other hand. The cat meows quietly, tail curled into what’s almost a question mark.

“What’s up” He runs his hand through its head, scratches under its ears. The cat purrs, leans against Seoho’s hand. “What’re you doing here?” He frowns a little, drops his hand to the sidewalk. The cat looks up at him—green gaze ghost of something human—then yawns again as it stretches—Seoho notices, now, that the cats sitting on top of a letter, little paws leaving dirt prints on white paper. He laughs a little, points at it with one finger. “What do you have there?” The cat shakes its head, the meows again, sitting up behind the letter—one of its front paws pushing it forward slightly.

Seoho cocks his head to the side, smile still in place. “For me?” The cat tilts its head to the opposite side, raises its paw and drops it again on the letter (as if saying _here! This! Take it_!). Seoho reaches out, watches as the cat stretches its back and does a full turn to end up sitting away enough that Seoho can grab the letter.

When he brings it up to his face, eyes curiously examining the almost neat, crooked handwriting—the same as before, in the box and letter with the chocolate—the cat meows ( _happily?_ ). Seoho laughs a little, lowers the letter and ruffles its fur with his other hand.

“Were you waiting for me?” The cat purrs, rubs against his hand, tail swishing from side to side and curled cutely. “Sorry I wasn’t here last night, then” He smiles, and the cat meows again, sounds like it’s complaining. Seoho rubs along its back, and the cat walks forward—puts its paws up on Seoho’s knees and meows again. Seoho pokes its nose, watches it blink and move back slightly. “Did you wait a lot?” The cat meows again, and Seoho sighs out a _sorry_ again together with a head pat. The cat meows, louder, paw reaching out to hit Seoho’s face softly.

A smack? He just got smacked by a cat.

He huffs out in mock annoyance, pushes the cat back by its nose. “Stop” The cat paws at his hand, and Seoho can’t help laughing again— bright and carefree. “Why’re you mad?” The cat jumps back, sits on the floor and looks at Seoho almost _unamused_.

Seoho, for lack of a better way to react, sticks his tongue out at the cat.

The cat’s tail swishes, quickly, from side to side.

Its eyes are _bright_ —lively and green and Seoho feels like this cat is trying to give him all the love in the world.

He looks at the letter again—god, he needs sleep.

“I’ll open this later, ‘kay?” The cat meows, stands up with a stretch. Seoho reaches out to pat its head again—poke its nose for the hell of it. “Bye-bye” softly, and the cat meows at him—lick his hand before he can move it away.

Seoho laughs, stands up and waves before he goes inside the building—exhaustion a little better than before.

————

When he walks into his and Hwanwoong’s shared apartment, he is glad to find that the couch has not been visibly soiled (yet). There’s less trash around, and the plates are all clean—he guesses he has Dongju to thank for that, even if it’s also because of Dongju that he’s scared to even _sit_ on his couch right now.

He glances at it—considers it for a second, then decides that _no, he’s not taking chances_ —he’d much rather sit on his bed, he’s at least sure no one’s fucked on there.

Hopefully, anyway.

He makes his way to their shared room, stops to take a breath at the door (just in case, you know, he opens it to find either of the two _demons_ naked—very much not what he wants to see in the morning, thank you very _much)_. He knocks a couple times, hears the distinct note of Dongju’s morning whining, then opens the door with a sigh of almost resignation.

“Did you guys—” To his surprise, they’re both fully clothed and, thankfully, on Hwanwoong’s bed. “Huh, unexpected” Hwanwoong doesn’t even move, head buried against Dongju’s neck and almost completely hidden under the cover. Dongju glares at him—sleepy and annoyed, and Seoho shoots him a smile.

“G’morning hyung” His voice is low—barely above a whisper and _tired_ , dragging and raspy.

“Morning! Did you guys fuck on the couch or not?” Seoho sounds chipper and _way_ too loud for 7 in the morning, but it’s the only way he knows to mask the fact that he’s about to drop and pass out on the ground.

That, and he’s happy—a little giddy, even, from the letter.

“We fucked on your bed” Dongju deadpans back.

“Huh?” Seoho stares. Dongju buries his face on Hwanwoong’s hair, and Seoho swears he can hear him hold back a laugh. Seoho squints, steps forward towards the pair—then stops, glances at his bed.

It’s perfectly made, which is even _more_ suspicious. He side-eyes them, walks towards his bed to look at it closely. Nothing feels out of place, all of his stuff where it should be, bedsheets the same as the day before. He places a hand over the bed, hears Dongju snicker into Hwanwoong’s pillow.

Seoho sighs, turns and sits on his bed, facing Dongju with almost a glare—the letter’s carefully placed over his thighs, still unopened. “You’re awful” He places a hand over the paper envelope, runs his fingers over the surface of it as he talks. “I’m telling your brother”

Dongju snorts, raises his head and pushes himself up with one arm. “Like that’s gonna help in any way” He sounds a little more awake, has his fingers running through Hwanwoong’s hair.

Hwanwoong’s still sleeping—unsurprisingly.

Seoho sighs, defeated. Dongju smirks in victory from the bed—then looks at the letter, squints at it curiously. Seoho covers it slightly, and Dongju frowns.

“I can’t read shit anyway” Seoho snorts, uncovers the letters to rest his palms on the bed and lean back slightly. Dongju drops back down, brings Hwanwoong even closer to him in a tight hug that makes Hwanwoong shift and complain in his sleep.

It’s adorable—Seoho fake gags.

“What’s that, though?” Dongju’s voice is muffled by Hwanwoong’s hair and the pillow—but he still sounds incredibly curious. Seoho lifts up the letter, looks over the handwritten ink and letters—ponders over his answer to the question.

“A letter” He pauses, leaves Dongju in suspense, feels himself smile. “From a cat”

Dongju raises his head so fast, Seoho worries he might pull a muscle. Seoho laughs, waves the letter in the air a little, then drops back on the bed and lets it fall next to his pillow.

“Will you read it?” Seoho hums, eyes closed as he lies facing the ceiling.

“Don’t be nosy” He laughs a little, hears Dongju whine out that _he’s not nosy, he’s curious_ —very much sounding like he’s pouting and cuddling up to Hwanwoong for reassurance he doesn’t particularly need.

Again, adorable. Seoho scrunches up his nose.

“Later” he moves so he’s now on his side, head properly on the pillow—he opens his eyes, takes off his glasses to place them over the letter carefully. “’m sleepy”

He can almost _hear_ Dongju pouting before he falls asleep.

————

It’s early afternoon when Seoho wakes up, whole body aching and heavy. He drags himself out of bed, pulls his phone out of his pocket to check the time.

Five hours, it’s not that bad, he guesses.

He sits up, stretches, then glances at the bed across the room—it’s empty now, bedsheets undone and a complete disaster. He picks up his glasses and the letter, thankful Dongju hadn’t decided to hide them from him while he slept. There’s noise from the kitchen—the distinct sound of late breakfast and of dragging Hwanwoong back into normal human functioning.

He guesses Dongju’s making food, then, while trying to revive his boyfriend.

He walks out into the small living room with the letter in hand, clothes wrinkled and hair dishevelled—he’s greeted by Dongju placing a cup of what looks like coffee in front of Hwanwoong, who’s slumped on the table with his face resting on his arms.

Domestic.

He walks—lets himself drop on the table nonchalantly. Dongju waves at him with a _good morning_ , then goes back to the kitchen to finish what might be fried rice. He puts the letter in front of him carefully, runs his fingers over now familiar handwriting with wonder.

Dongju comes back again with another cup—this time with something fruity. Seoho raises an eyebrow.

“Why’re you being nice” Dongju stops on his way to the kitchen, smiles at him innocently.

“Whatever could you mean” He speaks as he walks back to the kitchen, voice singsong and almost menacing. Seoho squints at him, turns to Hwanwoong and reaches out to poke him on the face.

Hwanwoong makes a noise of acknowledgment, something like a groan, but doesn’t do much else. Seoho pokes him again—laughs quietly when Hwanwoong buries his face further in his arms, whining.

Seoho pokes him again, this time on the forehead. “Woong” and again. Hwanwoong manages to whine out something like a _what_ —Seoho ruffles his hair. “Wake up” Hwanwoong shakes his head, somehow, slowly, and Seoho sighs. “C’mon, I think your boyfriend’s plotting to kill me”

“Let him” Seoho laughs again, louder—ruffles Hwanwoong’s hair roughly.

“No” He taps the letter with his other hand, pokes Hwanwoong’s cheek. “Wanna read this letter before that, at least” Hwanwoong groans, lifts his face up slowly. Seoho smiles, pats his cheek once he’s almost upright—Hwanwoong blinks slowly, leans against Seoho’s hand and closes his eyes again. “Wake uuup”

“’m awake” He keeps his eyes closed, head heavy against Seoho’s palm. Seoho frowns, flattens his palm against the letter at the same time he lightly pinches Hwanwoong’s cheek. Hwanwoong only whines, frowning and moving away until he’s sitting upright.

He blinks his eyes open, rubs at one of them with a heavy hand.

“It’s midday” Seoho flicks him gently on the nose. “Up”

“I’m up” Hwanwoong wrinkles his nose, lets his hand fall back on the table. His eyes land on the cup of coffee, and he seems to be trying out figure out _what_ it’s supposed to be.

Dongju walks into the living room with a bowl in hand, lets out a fond and fake-angry sigh when he sees Hwanwoong stare at his coffee like it’s an alien drink.

He leaves the plate on the table, throws Seoho an almost threatening look that says _go get the spoons_ , then sits on the chair next to Hwanwoong’s—runs a hand through his hair lovingly.

Seoho sticks his tongue out in fake disgust, like usual, and stands up—he leaves the letter on the table, doesn’t miss the way Dongju glances at it with eyes that scream curiosity. He grabs some clean spoons from a kitchen drawer, walks back and drops them on the table. Dongju gives him a quiet thank you and a smile, and Seoho replies with a shrug and sits down.

They eat from the same bowl—not wanting to bother with washing up later and perfectly content like this. All the while, Dongju throws glances at the letter, carefully placed away from the food.

As soon as they finish, plate and cutlery pushed to the side of the table to be dealt with later, Dongju grins—almost devilish, eyes on the letter. Seoho sighs, wipes his hands on his pants and shirt—makes sure they’re clean enough, then grabs the envelope.

Dongju looks incredibly excited—he’s cute, that little demon.

Hwanwoong also looks interested, now more awake and curious, hands playing with Dongju’s hand over the table—poking at his fingers and palm.

“It’s the same handwriting” He turns it over in his hand, shows the front part to Dongju—the careful ink that spells out _From Ravn_ next to a little heart. “Same name, too”

Dongju nods, Hwanwoong tilts his head to the side, eyes focused on the writing.

“A cat handed it to you?” Seoho nods, Hwanwoong hums in reply.

“Was sleeping by the entrance downstairs” Seoho shrugs “Kinda weird, almost like it was waiting for me”

“Kinda weird to have a _cat_ be a messenger” Dongju tilts his head to the side, hits Hwanwoong’s softly. “Cats never do what you want them to”

“Would cats even carry letters?” Hwanwoong leans against Dongju slightly, then lets go of his hand with one of his own—moves it to stroke the hair at the nape of his neck. Dongju almost seems to _melt_ for a second (Seoho wonders if these idiots can get more _adorable)_. “Isn’t it too bothersome”

“Probably, yeah” Seoho shrugs. “Cat still gave it to me, though” Hwanwoong purses his lips, and Dongju lets out a little _eh_.

Details, really.

“A dedicated cat” Dongju holds Hwanwoong’s hand over the table, drums his fingers impatiently on the table with his free hand. “Really wanna know what it says, though” He sounds almost _eager_ , and Seoho huffs and decides to give in (he’s eager, too—a little too excited and nervous all the same, an almost anxious wonder coiling in his stomach).

He opens the envelope carefully, flap coming up easily, and inside finds a folded-up paper—it’s a little wrinkled, definitely less careful than last time, and the handwriting is messier—a little smudged, even.

This time, it reads:

_Did you like the chocolate? Was it good? It’s a brand I really like, I can give you more, if you want? Or not, up to you haha_

_I thought I could talk to you directly this time, but turns out I couldn’t… > < I wanted to talk and ask for your name, but you didn’t get home at all at night… I thought maybe you got home early? But I don’t know you, so I can’t just visit…or knock… and also I don’t know your apartment number (just your window)_

_So I thought, ah, okay, I’ll just leave you another letter in the morning!!! I had this paper in my bag, sorry it’s crumpled_

_Did you sleep well? Sorry for being weird about this, really!! Are you doing okay? I know we’re strangers, but I’m just very worried. My friend says I’m going to freak you out, I hope not. I’m not gonna do anything I promise. I just want to get to know you, I live close by, and you always look tired…_

_Is it okay to ask for your name? You can leave your answer by the window today if that’s okay? At the windowsill, I’ll get to it… If it’s okay to meet up maybe too? Or if you want me to stop, I promise I will!!_

_Take care!! I don’t have anything today… I’m heading to class right now, actually…_

_but here’s a drawing of a squirrel!! I saw one earlier, and thinking about it right now it kinda looked like you? Same vibes_

_– Ravn_ _♡_

Next to Ravn’s name, there’s indeed a little drawing of a squirrel—round and with smudged black and blue ink. Seoho taps over the paper on the table once, twice, then slides it over to Dongju. “It’s cute”

Seoho feels that, if he were anyone else, he’d probably be taking the letter to the police—wondering if he has a stalker or something like that—but he doesn’t.

The letters don’t read dangerous, and the cat that seems to come together with them feels _safe_ —Ravn seems sweet, genuinely, Seoho doesn’t feel like there’s any danger.

Dongju finishes reading it with careful eyes—seems to look it over once, twice, before handing it to Hwanwoong, who folds it up and looks at Seoho with a tilt of his head.

“I guess it’s Ravn’s cat?” Dongju nods, and Seoho grabs the paper and slips it into the envelope again.

“Seems like it, yeah” His hands tap at the table, at the envelope. “How do you even train your cat to do that” Hwanwoong snorts, hand falling on of Dongju’s thigh and resting there.

There’s silence—Seoho wondering if he should reply or not, mind going over possibilities— over who it could be, where they come from, why they were worried about someone like him.

Dongju sighs, rests his head on Hwanwoong’s shoulder. “I can’t even be worried” Seoho glances at him, one eyebrow raised. Dongju nuzzles against Hwanwoong’s hair for a second before replying, voice soft. “You seem happy—less tired” He lifts his head, kisses Hwanwoong’s cheek. “Even if it’s a weirdo, can’t be too worried”

“Thanks for that”

————

When he gets home later, body tired and drowning in lethargy, he leaves a simple note taped to the living room window.

_I’m seoho!!_

_monday at like 10pm okay? sorry I’m horrible at waking up in the morning_

(Dongju chastises him for not, at the very least, adding a heart to it.)

————

Mondays are always long— stressful and headache inducing. Seoho doesn’t particularly like them, even if he’s always liked studying.

Probably because he’s starting to feel burnt out, way too eager to overachieve and leaving himself no time to rest—he’s pretty sure the only reason he’s still standing right now is actually Dongju, with his tendency to scold him and Hwanwoong whenever they looked like they were about to fall over (lately, all the time).

His phone ran out of battery on the bus, not long before he had to get off, so he’s stuck without music—humming to himself to cover up the silence, hair hitting his face from the wind that seems to be picking up tonight.

He almost skips to his street, legs and back aching but still energetic—the streetlights buzz comfortably around him, give warmth against the chill of late November.

He gets to his street, takes familiar steps and crosses the street—hears the echo against concrete and glass. His eyes follow spots and shadows in the sidewalk, look up when he walks by the familiar colour of a crack between his building and the next one over—

And he stops.

Next to the glass door, there’s someone sitting on the floor— green eyes bright and looking up at Seoho. The stranger’s huddled into himself, cheeks a little red, beanie covering his head and hair falling to the front of his face and over his eyes—his coat looks warm, but the stranger’s still shivering, mouth half open and strangely sharp and long fangs peeking out.

The stranger is adorable—and he looks almost excited as he stands up with clumsy movements and walks a step towards Seoho.

Seoho’s rational brain screams _you’re about to get killed_ —

The stronger, gayer brain screams _he’s really cute_.

He tilts his head to the side, listens to the gayer brain, blinks at the stranger as he just stands there, shoves his hands in his pockets with a smile.

“Seoho-ssi?” He sounds nervous, looks as much, too— bouncing in his position and eyes darting to look at anywhere but Seoho’s face. Seoho nods, and the stranger _beams_ at him, tension falling from his shoulders as his position relaxes. “I’m Ravn” He waves his hand, lets it hover in the air in front of his face “Hi”

“Hi” Seoho blinks, again, straightens his head and runs a hand through his hair. “Where’s your cat?”

He doesn’t… really mean to say that. But it’s what he blurts out, nervous and unsure of what to do—so he rolls with it and hopes for the best—tries to act nonchalant as he lets out a laugh, _something_ stuck in his throat and almost making him choke.

(He’s nervous—hands anxious and head spinning because he doesn’t _understand—_ not why the stranger would wait for him at night, why he would leave letters, worry about him _—he understands nothing at all.)_

(He had agreed—given a day and time to meet up—but he hadn’t expected it to be real.

Hadn’t expected someone to look at him like someone so—

Someone almost _precious_ ).

Ravn laughs, hand over his mouth—Seoho guesses it’s to cover his fangs, cute where he can see them through his fingers, peeking out over his bottom lip. Seoho laughs back—another awkward noise, feels himself become alert.

“I didn’t—” Ravn stops, lowers his hand a second, then brings it up to pulls his beanie down a little bit. “He’s at home, sorry”

Seoho pouts, and Ravn laughs a little louder. His eyes close slightly, then open and it’s now that Seoho notices they remind him of the cat’s—green and sharp and _kind_ (and human, of course).

“It’s okay, uh” Seoho stammers, closes his mouth, opens it again “Sorry for—Sorry for meeting up so late” He tries for a kind smile, and Ravn’s eyes widen. “It’s cold and all, should’ve just—”

“I don’t mind” Ravn smiles, kind and easy, and Seoho lets out a noise of complaint—then a laugh. “I said I’m close by, right?”

“Well, yeah, but—” Ravn brings a hand up to his head, scratches the back of his neck, interrupts.

“Plus, I’m the one being cryptid and weird” He purses his lips, and Seoho guesses that, well, _yeah_ , that’s true. “I must’ve freaked you out, sorry” He looks sheepish, hand dropping and going into his pocket again. Seoho only shrugs, lets himself walk a few steps forward and towards his building’s door.

Ravn follows him a couple of steps, then stops—stands awkwardly in silence. Seoho turns around—feels laughter bubbling up his throat. “You would’ve if you sent the bird that first time.” He plays with his keys in his pocket, watches as Ravn’s eyes widen before he laughs—held back and hidden behind his coat collar but still laugh—Seoho finds himself smiling. “You’re fine”

“But it would’ve been a unique touch, right?” Seoho snorts, lets go of his keys—feels himself relax a little bit.

“Unique, sure” He rolls his eyes, huffs out a breath “Not very nice, though” Ravn looks like he’s pouting, one of his fangs sticking out over his lip—Seoho almost wants to _coo_ at him. “Why did you thank me then, though?”

Ravn looks a little taken aback—and maybe Seoho’s eyes are fooling him, but he _swears_ he saw something under his beanie twitch in surprise.

“My cat” Seoho sees the twitch in his hair again—sees the way Ravn’s nose twitches as well. “Told me—Showed me”

Seoho hums in reply, watches the nerves rise in Ravn’s muscles and shoulders. “Your cat’s smart” Ravn lets out an awkward laugh, eyes darting to the side and back.

“A little, for a cat” He licks his lips, runs his tongue over one fang (cute). “I would’ve just—” He gets one of his hands out of his pockets, waves it in front of him as he tries to find words. “approached normally, but—I only knew your window” His hand drops, and he looks down—almost scared. “And I’d just—seen you around a lot, here, so—” He cuts himself off, shrugs.

“So, you sent me” Seoho holds back an amused laugh “messages through your cat?” Ravn nods, looking away—beanie twitching again. “Unique”

Ravn, awkward and guilty as he looks, laughs despite himself—huffs of air out of his lips and voice almost breaking. “You think so?”

Seoho nods “Absolutely” He takes out his keys—clinking of them loud against their ears. Ravn looks at them curiously, then at Seoho’s face for a split-second. Seoho tries to smile in something like reassurance—points at his pocket a little awkwardly. “Phone’s dead, but” Ravn’s eyes watch the clinking of his keys—Seoho makes them spin once. “I can give you my number?”

There’s that twitching under Ravn’s beanie again—and then he smiles, happy and absolutely _shining_. “That’d be nice” His voice sounds soft—a little unsure. “I’d really like that, actually”

Seoho gestures with his hand holding the keys—watches Ravn’s eyes follow his keychain for a second before Ravn gets his phone out, unlocks it to hand it over. Seoho takes it, puts the keyring through one of his fingers as he types in his name ( _Lee Seoho)_ and number, saves his contact on Ravn’s phone.

When he’s done, he moves to hand it back—stops when he notices the way Ravn’s beanie seems to be standing _alert_ somehow—the way Ravn’s eyes are following a moth in the air. Seoho can’t help a smile.

“Ravn-ssi” Ravn’s beanie twitches “Your phone” Ravn blinks—seems startled as he looks at Seoho again, eyes wide and lips parted.

His cheeks tint a little red, eyes blinking again before he reaches out and takes his phone back with a quiet _ah, thank you_ and a silly smile.

“I’ll see you around then” Seoho closes his hand around his keys, waves with the other. “Wanna go sleep right now, so”

Ravn nods—seems to recompose himself, waves his hand back. “Yeah” Seoho turns, grabs his keys properly to open the door.

“Oh” When he’s already almost inside, Ravn speaks up again—Seoho turns to glance at him, question on his face. Ravn’s eyes are kind, a little nervous and embarrassed. “It’s fine to call me Youngjo—” He shoves his hands in his pockets again “Next time”

Seoho laughs a little—gives him a smile and an _okay_ before waving goodbye again and heading inside.

————

When he gets home, he expects all the lights to be off and for there to be no food—he had mentally prepared himself for takeout to start off his week, for Monday night on his own until Hwanwoong showed up when Seoho was already manging to fall asleep (at 4am, maybe five—not a time to be getting home at, but Seoho couldn’t stop him)—or even later, sometimes.

Instead, though, he finds Dongju at the dining room table—he’s on his laptop, notebooks and readings scattered together with pens and empty plates all over. He’s got his headphones on, fingers typing away at a document—he’s got a highlighter half over the edge of his laptop, right over a reading with a little tiger drawn in bright pink right on the corner.

Seoho laughs a little as he closes the door—walks inside and glances at the living room. There’s no one there, just Dongju’s blanket draped over the couch and the remote right next to it—Hwanwoong’s shoes are at the door, so he must be home (Seoho wonders why he’s not here with Dongju right now).

He reaches the table, gives Dongju a pat on the head that makes him blink—turn around with a frown and a noise of complaint. He stops when he sees it’s Seoho, sighs and pulls one side of his headphones aside, then gives him a wave.

“Welcome home” He sounds tired, and Seoho gives him a smile.

“Thank you” Seoho points at the dirty plates and cutlery with a finger, Dongju groans.

“I’ll pick them up later” He turns back to his laptop, pushes back his headphones so they’re around his neck. Seoho sighs, walks around the table to get a few papers that seem to be about to fall off, then the plates to put them in a pile.

“Dongju” Dongju spares him a glance, mutters a _thank you_ and gets back to his paper. Seoho takes everything to the kitchen, leaves it on the sink, walks back and pulls a chair to sit down on. “Are you staying over?”

“Wasn’t gonna” Dongju’s hand twitches over the keyboard—he reaches out for the reading closest to him, drops the highlighter on the floor and clicks his tongue. Seoho laughs a little, stands up and walks over behind Dongju—Dongju picks up the highlighter, lets out a yelp when he feels Seoho over his shoulder.

“It’s late already” Dongju presses backspace for a full second, two—watches a whole paragraph get wiped on the screen. Seoho smacks his hand away at the second to last line. “Stop that” Dongju smacks his hand back. Seoho moves away and taps at the back of Dongju’s screen, pushes it forward slightly—Dongju freezes, lets out a yell and glares at Seoho.

Seoho laughs, lets go of the laptop to flick Dongju on the forehead. “Where’s Woong?” Dongju pushes his screen back again, quickly clicks to save his document.

“Sleeping” Dongju’s glare falls, turns into worry. Seoho sits back down in front of him.

“Why’s he home?” Dongju sighs, saves his work again and closes his laptop—leans against the backrest of the chair, hands falling on his sides.

“I brought him” He pushes his laptop back, leans forward and rests his head on the table. “He needs sleep”

“He agreed?” Dongju snorts against the table, raises his head slightly to look at Seoho, incredulous.

“With a show this Saturday? No way” He drops back down, groans, then pushes himself to sit up properly—eyes tired and almost upset. “I had to drag him back”

“He’s mad?” Seoho leans forward on the table, a stretch—then moves to gather Dongju’s papers into pile. Dongju shrugs, pouts.

“He just went to bed” He runs a hand through his hair. “I didn’t wanna go home, so” He clicks his tongue again, rubs at his eyes with the back of one hand. “I’ll just sleep on the couch, I guess”

Seoho stands up again, walks over to Dongju with a smile. “No” He pulls him up by the arm, hits both of his cheeks lightly, ruffles his hair a little roughly—Dongju whines, steps back and away from both Seoho and the table. “You’re gonna go talk to him” He grabs the pink highlighter from the table, uncaps it.

Dongju simply stares at him, confused.

Seoho laughs—then draws a line across Dongju’s nose with it. Dongju yelps, lets out something that’s almost a laugh of his own as he steps back again, rubs at his nose.

“Hyung, what the fuck?” He’s smiling— a little crooked and eyes tired, but he’s smiling. Seoho laughs out a _hehehe_ sounding thing, and Dongju glares, steps forward to try and grab Seoho’s shirt—get the highlighter and revenge.

Seoho, though, doesn’t wanna let him do that today—he takes a step back, quicker than Dongju, and laughs as he runs to the other side of the table and waves the highlighter in front of him. Dongju doesn’t chase—seemingly defeated. Seoho stops, smiles and points at the room’s door with the highlighter.

“Go talk to him” Dongju seems ready to say something, but Seoho points at him with the highlighter—smiles. “I’ll sleep here” Dongju tries again, but Seoho dismisses him with a noise, a wave of his hands—he drops the highlighter on the table, walks and throws his bag on the couch. “Shoo”

He hears Dongju sigh, mutter out a _thank you_ before he walks towards the room a little too quickly—

When he hears the door close—the door lock and hushed whispers of words through the thin walls—he opens his bag, pulls out his charger and plugs in his phone.

It takes a little, but it finally turns back on—Seoho sits by the wall on the couch, turns on the wi-fi and scrolls through notifications—stops when he finds a new chat from someone outside his contacts on KakaoTalk.

**K. Youngjo:**

| 

seoho-ssi!!!!!!  
  
---|---  
  
| 

thanks for meeting up with me today!! 🥰 hahah  
  
| 

hope u can sleep well ❤️❤️  
  
| 

see u some other time???  
  
Seoho smiles, saves Ravn— _Youngjo’s_ contact and changes his nickname ( _Youngjo_ _🐾_ ) before replying.

**seoho:**

| 

heyyyyyyyo!!!!!!!!  
  
---|---  
  
| 

thnk u too!!  
  
| 

srry I left u waiting a whiel ;;-  
  
| 

didnt realize I was walking sso slow home ig?? hehe  
  
| 

nd yeah!! defdef lets meet up again!!! Wanna ask about the bird  
  
| 

oh also  
  
| 

send ur cat lov from me I miss itt its rlly smart nd cute huh  
  
| 

ehats its name  
  
| 

also what the k for  
  
| 

surname?  
  
| 

roomates having a momnt with his boyfriend sorry for so many messages im antsy hhh  
  
He stares at his screen—tries not to overthink his messages, taps in and out of the chat over and over again before dropping his phone on the floor and focusing on just _breathing_.

He’s not the best with strangers—he usually wouldn’t even do this. But Youngjo seemed cute—interesting. Something about him was so _genuine—_ made Seoho want to talk to him again.

His phone vibrates—he checks it a little too fast (hears something like _crying_ from the next room over—decides to simply focus on Youngjo, for now).

**Youngjo** **🐾** **:**

| 

kim youngjo! full name!! haha  
  
---|---  
  
| 

dont worry about it!! i didnt wait that long!!! i live next street over so its all good!!  
  
| 

was just a little cold but thats okay 🥰🥰  
  
| 

with how cryptid i was being its only fair i freeze a little bit😅  
  
| 

cats uh  
  
| 

ravn  
  
| 

ill pat him for you ahaha  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

i thank u kindly sir  
  
| 

u introduced urself with ur cats name huh  
  
**Youngjo** **🐾** **:**

| 

is ur roommate okay tho? ☹  
  
| 

aahah it felt weird to just... use my name haha…  
  
| 

it was a thank u from him anyway and then i just uh  
  
| 

atuck with it…  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

eh hell be fine  
  
| 

he had it coming lmao  
  
| 

worried abt his bfruend more  
  
| 

boyfriend  
  
| 

got home and he seemed sad ::I  
  
| 

o i see… well I guess u just stole ur cats name like that  
  
| 

ure ur cat now  
  
| 

glad to know ur real name tho :))  
  
| 

i can go to authoriets if u do sthng funky now  
  
| 

heh  
  
**Youngjo** **🐾** **:**

| 

😦  
  
He looks up from his phone when he hears the door unlock and open— creaking against silence and stopping Seoho’s humming. He leaves his phone aside, stands up when he sees Hwanwoong walk towards the kitchen with quick steps and looking like a complete mess.

He ponders on approaching, asking him what’s wrong—what happened, but then Hwanwoong’s downing a glass of water and sighing—walking back to the room and stopping somewhere in front of Seoho. He looks at him with red eyes—tired and about to fall over—and raises his hand in a wave. Seoho waves back.

“You can, uh” He points at their room’s door, Seoho follows with his eyes. “Come in. Thank you” He smiles softly at him, and Seoho gives him a smile back.

“Please don’t start making out while I’m trying to sleep” Hwanwoong chokes, throws him a glare and mumbles that they _won’t_ before walking back to the room. Seoho laughs, picks up his phone again to check the battery—it’s low, of course, and there’s no new messages yet.

He taps on it once, twice—unlocks it, opens his chat with Youngjo and types one last quick message before going to his room—maybe to try and sleep before 4am for once, phone resting on the living room floor.

**Seoho:**

| 

gonn go take back my room >:)  
  
---|---  
  
| 

sleep well youngjo-ssi!!!  
  
————

Somehow, Seoho had managed to fall asleep at 3am (an achievement, if he’s allowed to pat himself on the back), but now he’s awake at 9am, so does it really matter?

He sits up with a whine, pushes his bangs away from his face to look across the room— Hwanwoong’s in bed, curled up under more blankets that he remembers seeing the night before, and with something that very much looks like Dongju’s cardigan on.

He looks like death—and is also very much _awake_ , which is already more than a red flag.

“Morning” Seoho’s voice is heavy with sleep, and his throat feels dry. He pushes his blankets off, hurries to his desk to grab a jacket and throw it on. The little ball of blankets that is Hwanwoong doesn’t move. Seoho walks towards him, hands in his pockets as he leans down closer. “Are you alive?”

Hwanwoong replies with a quiet groan, eyes shutting tighter as he curls in on himself. Seoho cocks his head to the side.

“No” Dongju’s voice is tired, laced with lack of sleep and worry, coming from the door behind him. Seoho straightens, looks at Dongju and blinks.

“Don’t you have class?” Dongju huffs, walks in with a glass of water and what looks to be a thermometer—He kneels down next to Hwanwoong’s bed, prods at his face until Hwanwoong’s eyes open and he whines, brings the blankets closer to himself.

“Yeah” Dongju uncaps the thermometer, motions for Hwanwoong to open his mouth. Hwanwoong doesn’t, Dongju frowns. “But hyung’s sick” He brings the thermometer closer to Hwanwoong, pokes at his cheek with his index finger and leans forward a bit more.

“I can take care of—” Dongju shakes his head, interrupts—pushes Hwanwoong’s mouth open with his hand even as Hwanwoong tries to resist.

“’t’s fine” Dongju’s mumbling, then he lovingly shoves the thermometer into Hwanwoong’s mouth and sighs. Hwanwoong whines but seems obedient enough—leaves the thermometer there and doesn’t move. “You got class, so” He sits back on the floor, knees tense against the wood.

Seoho only hums in reply, then ruffles Dongju’s hair playfully and sits on the bed next to him—his knees are by Dongju’s head, and he sighs quietly before leaning against them. Seoho pats his head, plays with Dongju’s hair while Dongju breathes.

“He’s an idiot” Seoho nods, laughs a little, hand still on Dongju’s hair. “He threw up”

“Have you slept?” Dongju shakes his head, Seoho sighs, hits his head lightly. “Dongju”

“Worried” He slumps forward, digs his head against Seoho’s thigh—then he moves back, gives a light tap to Hwanwoong’s cheek and takes the thermometer out. The little screen lights up with 39°C, and Dongju throws Hwanwoong a glare. “You’re an idiot”

Hwanwoong doesn’t reply, only pulls a hand from inside the blanket cocoon to look for one of Dongju’s. Dongju lets him—lets Hwanwoong hold his hand (sweaty and gross as he is) as he falls back asleep.

“I’ll make us breakfast?” Seoho stands up, fixes his jacket and sweatpants. Dongju mumbles out an _okay_ —Seoho gives Hwanwoong’s vague shape under the blankets a little pat. “Make sure he drinks water”

Dongju nods, and Seoho walks out with a wave.

————

He leaves some water boiling before heading to his phone—he picks it up from the floor, unlocks it to look through notifications. There’s some from classmates, some from their dance team, one from his singing teacher reminding him he has this week free of individual lessons, and then there’s a few from Youngjo.

Seoho figures he should open them in order of arrival—so he quickly replies a _thank you!!!!_ to his teacher before opening Youngjo’s chat.

**Youngjo** **🐾** **:**

| 

hope u slept well!!  
  
---|---  
  
| 

sorry for late reply… guess i didnt realize it but i fell asleep?? good morning!!  
  
The message is from like six in the fucking morning—Seoho wonders if Youngjo is okay.

**Seoho:**

| 

what the fukc  
  
---|---  
  
| 

why were u awake at 6am  
  
| 

blink twice if ned helo?  
  
| 

help/  
  
**Youngjo** **🐾** **:**

| 

im early to rise 😈  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

not human then  
  
| 

noted  
  
| 

also gmornin  
  
He drops his phone at the kitchen counter, hears the kettle’s quiet _click_ as it turns off—he grabs tea filters from the cupboard, goes for a few mugs as he stifles a yawn. He hears his phone buzz—leaves the tea sitting and shoves leftover bread that might be from last week into a pan with eggs (he’s a nice roommate, sure, but he refuses to cook something decent today—he’s tired).

Once he’s done, he shoves everything into whatever clean plates he can find and carefully takes everything to the table, throws papers and whatever trash is there aside and to the floor—he then grabs his phone, opens his chat with Youngjo.

**Youngjo** **🐾** **:**

| 

maybe so haha  
  
---|---  
  
| 

hope u have a good day also!!  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

ty  
  
| 

hope so too but also ngl already rocky  
  
**Youngjo** **🐾** **:**

| 

oh  
  
| 

no  
  
| 

are u okay?  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

me? yeah  
  
| 

roommate? Debatable  
  
**Youngjo** **🐾** **:**

| 

did the moment with his boyfriend not go well  
  
| 

or  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

nah i think That went well  
  
| 

idiot seems to be sick tho  
  
| 

so im now makin breakfast and being a nice friend to him and his poor suffering bofriend who stayed over  
  
**Youngjo** **🐾** **:**

| 

thats nice of u  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

im a nice perosn!!!!  
  
| 

even to these demons  
  
| 

ah wait gonna go get em to eat actually  
  
| 

nd text rhe dumbass’ club or w/e that he wont show up  
  
He drops his phone into his pocket, walks to knock on the bedroom’s door a couple of time before pushing it open. Dongju’s now sitting on the bed, back against the wall and side against the headrest, Hwanwoong’s head on his lap. It’s cute—would be cuter if Hwanwoong didn’t look like he was seconds away from perishing, even asleep as he is, and Dongju didn’t look like he was about to _cry_. He waves at them, points behind him at the hallway.

“There’s food—” Dongju nods, runs a hand through Hwanwoong’s hair. “Also made tea” Dongju nods again, Hwanwoong stirs slightly, buries his face against Dongju’s middle where he can reach.

Dongju pokes at Hwanwoong’s face, frowns. Seoho laughs. “I’ll bring it over” Dongju mumbles out a _that’d be nice_ followed by a quieter _thank you_ , and Seoho waves his hand dismissively. “Do you wanna eat, though?” Dongju’s frown deepens—he runs his hand through Hwanwoong’s hair again and he shrugs.

“Not really hungry” He looks up, a little sheepish, hand freezing on Hwanwoong’s forehead. “I’ll take the tea, though” Seoho sighs, Dongju looks apologetic, nervous as he takes a breath. “I’ll eat later, promise”

“I’ll leave it on the table, ‘kay?” Dongju nods, and Seoho leaves the room at the same time he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket again.

He grabs some eggy toast with a napkin, bites on it while covering the rest of them with another plate on the table—then puts his toast down over the upside down plate to grab the mugs and go back to the room.

His class isn’t until 1pm, he probably won’t be leaving until midday—he has time to nurse those two idiots, he guesses, and maybe talk some more to Youngjo while on it.

————

Because Seoho’s luck is absolutely terrible, and also Hwanwoong is an idiot, he ends up sick for the next few days—and now it’s Friday night, and Hwanwoong’s throwing up at home, Dongju hasn’t left all week, and none of the three of them has gotten any _decent_ sleep.

He doesn’t even _want_ to go home—his head hurts, and last he heard his bedroom smelt like _death_ and Keonhee was being an angel by offering to help clean up (and also get them some food, and offering to hug Dongju until the guy stopped shaking like a leaf—really, Keonhee was an angel).

At the very least, he’s been talking to Youngjo a lot, now that he has his contact info and he’s not just getting mysterious letters on the window. He’s fun—seems to have an easier time chatting and leading average conversation topics than Seoho—also seems to not mind whatever weird things Seoho sends him at ungodly hours of the night.

**Youngjo** **🐾** **:**

| 

hopefully hell get better soon😟??  
  
---|---  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

been hopin like all week  
  
| 

gggjdjhhh  
  
| 

we got a showcase thing tomorrow?  
  
| 

knowing him hes gonna try to go no matter hwat  
  
| 

fun  
  
**Youngjo** **🐾** **:**

| 

😣  
  
| 

please take care as well  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

no promises  
  
| 

uwu  
  
He sighs, pulls his scarf tighter around his neck as he walks, shoves his phone in his pocket—he’s a few streets away still, choosing to walk slowly even if he wants nothing more than to lie down in bed and ignore the fact that he won’t be able to sleep for the next five hours. The air’s picked up for some reason, strong and slicing cold against his face—bangs still way too long and going into his eyes. He pushes them away, tucks them under his beanie with a huff that fogs up his glasses.

He crosses the street carefully—steps light, is about to turn a corner when a familiar voice makes him stop.

“Seoho-ssi?” Youngjo’s voice sounds almost excited, happy. Seoho turns towards him, head cocked to the side and confused—gives him a little wave and an eye smile.

“Hey?” Youngjo walks towards him with careful steps, an angry-looking puffy grey cat walking behind him. “Weird meeting you here” Seoho’s voice is a mumble, and Youngjo lets out an awkward laugh as he stops in front of him, cat sitting by their feet. Seoho waves at it—the cat stares, tail flicking from side to side. Seoho points a finger at it, then looks at Youngjo again. “You had another cat?”

Youngjo’s eyes widen slightly—beanie twitching cutely before he laughs. “Yeah?”

“You didn’t tell me” Seoho pouts, and Youngjo’s beanie twitches once more at the same time the cat lifts a paw to lick at it. Seoho tries sending it another smile, but the cat only stares at him with its tongue stuck out.

“He won’t really let me—uh” The cat’s paw lowers and it stretches—shakes its fur as if pushing out humidity, ends up looking even _fluffier_ afterwards. Youngjo looks at it with a little smile. “Take pictures, so” The cat paws at Youngjo’s pant leg as if in complaint, and Youngjo snorts before looking up at Seoho’s face again. “I guess I forgot?”

Seoho places a hand on his chest, lets out a dramatic sigh “You’re forgiven” Youngjo’s eyes seem to smile wider, then, and Seoho lowers his hand at the same time he laughs. “Tell me its name, though”

Youngjo’s ever-expressive beanie twitches, alert—the cat’s ears twitch too, alert in much the same way—Seoho laughs at that, almost wants to take his phone out to take a picture of both the cat and Youngjo’s slightly wide eyes and careful stance.

“Leedo” The cat’s ears jump, and it looks up at Youngjo in what almost seems like human disbelief.

“That is” Seoho crouches down, _Leedo_ takes a step back, paw raised in defense as Seoho reaches out a hand for it to sniff. “Unique” He scrunches up his nose, lets Leedo smell around his gloves and jacket before sitting back, careful. Youngjo laughs, crouches down as well to stroke behind Leedo’s ears. Leedo purrs quietly, then bites Youngjo’s hand. Seoho laughs, again, finds it _adorable_ when Youngjo’s green eyes focus on Leedo as he pets under its chin in loving aggression.

Youngjo picks Leedo up, the cat letting out a hilariously deep sounding meow, holds it up to his chest—its tail curls around Youngjo’s arm, and it seems almost resigned and is rests its paws on Youngjo’s shoulder and rubs its face against his cheek.

Once again, Seoho muses, _adorable_.

“You don’t take Ravn out for walks?” Seoho reaches out a hand to pet behind Leedo’s ears as he talks, and Youngjo’s beanie seems to tip forward slightly.

“He—” Leedo’s tail flicks, tickles at Seoho’s fingertips when he moves away. “Walks around on his own, so” 

“Leedo doesn’t?” Seoho pokes at Leedo’s back, watches its ears twitch. Youngjo pats its head, rubs his cheek against its ears.

“Not as much” Seoho only hums, lets out a little laugh when Leedo’s tail flicks again, once—and then it’s digging its claws against Youngjo’s shoulder and jumping off. Youngjo turns towards it, beanie moving faster than the rest of him and following the noise—he tilts his head to the side, leg seeming to twitch. Leedo meows, flicks its tail—Youngjo waves at it with a nod and a smile, and then the cat leaves, fluffy body getting lost among the buildings.

Youngjo turns back to look at Seoho, beanie seeming to lower—calm. Seoho shoves his hands in his pockets, awkward.

“Is he gonna be okay?” Youngjo gives him a nod, fixes his beanie and dusts cat hairs off his jacket.

“Yeah” Seoho nods, tilts his head to the other side. Youngjo laughs, calm and quiet, then walks forward—motions for Seoho to do the same, in the same direction Seoho had been going to before being stopped. Seoho follows, falls into an easy pace—slightly behind Youngjo, eyes careful on the street and the way his hair seems to move towards any sound.

“Why were you out so late, anyway?” Youngjo shrugs, focuses on a passing moth for a split second before blinking, turning to look at Seoho.

“Wanted to walk around with Ge—Leedo, I guess?” Seoho nods, takes a few more steps before Youngjo stops, points at the other side of the road so they cross. “Been out a lot this week, club’s been busy” Seoho nods.

“Walking’s nice” Youngjo gives him a smile, steps forward when the traffic light changes, eyes focused on little lights and paint on the road.

“Are you just getting home?” They get to the other side, Seoho holds in a yawn under his mask—nods.

“Thought you knew my schedule already” Youngjo snorts, shakes his head.

“I just saw you outside _sometimes_ ” Seoho laughs, turns the next corner.

“Sure” Youngjo pouts, runs a hand over his bangs to push them down—his beanie moves downwards, sad.

Without thinking too much, Seoho reaches out—careful, words turning in his head and spilling out as his hand hovers over his beanie. “Can I—” They’ve stopped walking—Youngjo looks a little tense, beanie almost in Seoho’s hand seeming to tremble slightly and eyes wide. “Pat? Your head, I mean”

Youngjo blinks, looks away, then back at Seoho and gives him a half-hearted shrug—he seems nervous. Seoho frowns, pulls his hand away.

“It’s okay if not, just—” Youngjo looks away again, eyes wide as he reaches up towards Seoho’s hand—careful as he grabs his wrist and pulls him back.

“It’s fine” He lets go, and Seoho gives him a smile—tries for reassuring as he pats down softly. Youngjo’s beanie twitches, but Seoho chooses not to comment on it even as he feels it, and Youngjo doesn’t comment either, only gives Seoho a quiet laugh. “Why, though?”

Seoho lowers his hand, puts it in his pocket and keeps walking—shrugs. “Looked soft?” Youngjo raises an eyebrow at him, keeps walking.

“Was it soft?” Seoho ponders his answer for a moment.

“Yeah?” Youngjo’s eyes smile—pretty green under moonlight. “Wonder what your hair feels like, though”

Youngjo gives him a shrug—Seoho can feel a smirk under his mask, too. “That’s for later, Seoho-ssi” Seoho snorts, and Youngjo turns around fully to look at him, bangs framing his face and one hand holding the beanie down. Seoho feels the wind hit at the back of his neck, scarf slipping down—it’s cold.

“Later?” He feels his bangs hit his eyes again—thinks about dyeing and cutting his hair soon, maybe after the showcase on Saturday. Youngjo pulls his mask down slightly, throws him a smile.

“If you want, I guess?” Seoho reaches out, pulls Youngjo’s mask back up—feels the ghost of a touch, the warmth of Youngjo’s skin.

“Maybe, then” He lets go, reaches up to fix Youngjo’s bangs before pulling away. “We’ll see”

————

Saturday morning comes and Hwanwoong, in a terrifying show of force of will, is not only awake early, but also functional enough to pour himself a glass of water without turning the living room into a pool—It’s impressive, yes, but Dongju’s still hellbent on making him stay _inside_ , something Hwanwoong very much doesn’t agree with.

Doesn’t help that Changmin (one of their two other partners for the showcase that evening—the other being Juyeon, who has all the chill that Changmin _doesn’t_ when it comes to anything) is blasting their phones with messages along the lines of _what the hell!!! are we going to do!!!!!!???_ And _is woong alive today???????? are U alive today?????????_ —and similar worried and half-angry messages ( _why the hELL DIDN’T WOONG LET US KNOW HE WAS GETTING SICK ANYWAY_ and _im going to start crying and then im going to kill him and THEN—_ in typical Changmin fashion). Seoho feels another headache climbing up—wonders if he can just catch whatever the hell stress gave Hwanwoong and perish for the next week.

But the world isn’t kind, ever, so Seoho is very much alive, and very much having to hear Dongju try to wrestle Hwanwoong to stay in bed—there’s leftover soup heating up at the stovetop, and Seoho thinks about how oddly domestic their chaos is as he goes to turn the fire down a little, get a couple of bowls out.

He also thinks about how they’re definitely going to die, sighing as he places bowls at the countertop. He picks up his phone to shoot Changmin a message ( _woongs alive come over but pls dont kill him dongjus been doing that already),_ switches over to his chat with Youngjo at the same time he hears something that suspiciously sounds like Dongju and Hwanwoong falling to the _floor_.

He’s not even going to go to his room to check—he turns off the fire, leaves the pot waiting and goes to sit on the couch.

**Seoho** **:**

| 

did i tell u i dance  
  
---|---  
  
**Youngjo** **🐾** **:**

| 

!! you didnt!!!  
  
**Seoho** **:**

| 

o  
  
| 

well now u kno!!!!!  
  
**Youngjo** **🐾** **:**

| 

thats so cool woaah… i used to dance a lot more  
  
| 

kinda lost focus on that lately tho haha  
  
**Seoho** **:**

| 

nd thing is right got a showcase this evening and its!! with my roommate  
  
| 

who u very well know  
  
| 

has been!!!!!! dying  
  
| 

but hey the guy managed to come back from the brink of death  
  
| 

which in itself is scary but hes always like that  
  
| 

boyfriend wont let him leave tho and im suspecting the guy is getting sic k himself so  
  
| 

:’))  
  
**Youngjo** **🐾** **:**

| 

😰 😰 😰  
  
**Seoho** **:**

| 

turn me into dust  
  
**Youngjo** **🐾** **:**

| 

are u doing okay????  
  
| 

were not like close and met a week ago but uh  
  
| 

i live closeby i can go try to help?? somehow??  
  
| 

or like  
  
**Seoho** **:**

| 

nah  
  
| 

unless u wanna like  
  
| 

have to deal with this chaos  
  
**Youngjo** **🐾** **:**

| 

i dont really mind😊  
  
**Seoho** **:**

| 

anyway tho u dance? :o  
  
| 

i thought u just did music??  
  
| 

are u sure i dont have food or anything dude  
  
**Youngjo** **🐾** **:**

| 

i just like.. the arts in general hehe  
  
| 

i can ask my roommate to help me with something quick??  
  
**Seoho** **:**

| 

heheee  
  
| 

Art Kid I see  
  
| 

also huh? u have a roommate???  
  
**Youngjo** **🐾** **:**

| 

Always😉  
  
| 

oh yeah i do?? have i not mentioned him before  
  
| 

hes cool  
  
**Seoho** **:**

| 

u have not  
  
| 

just like u hadnt mentione ur second cat  
  
| 

i see this friednships future is rocky….  
  
**Youngjo** **🐾:**

| 

😦😧😧😧  
  
**Seoho** **:**

| 

sorry it had to be this way…  
  
**Youngjo** **🐾:**

| 

ill make it up to u with a nice breakfast? :(  
  
**Seoho** **:**

| 

tempting  
  
**Youngjo** **🐾:**

| 

hahaha  
  
He locks his phone—moves his eyes away for a second when he hears the bedroom door finally open. Hwanwoong comes out, hair messy and very much looking like he just ran a marathon in bed—Dongju comes out right behind him, relatively calmer than he was earlier, eyes half asleep.

They’re holding hands—Dongju’s hold tight on Hwanwoong’s—and something tells Seoho that Dongju’s three seconds away from either collapsing or clinging to Hwanwoong until they both fall to the floor (again, if the earlier floor noises were anything to go by).

Seoho feels bad for him, more than a little bit—even with his _frozen heart_ , or whatever his friends like to say.

He stands up from the couch, walks over to them as they reach the dining room table—Hwanwoong lets go of their held hands, light scolding in his eyes as he makes Dongju sit down, holds his cheeks so _tenderly_ Seoho has to look away and go straight to the pot instead.

“Are you both eating?” He picks up the bowls, looks for clean spoons in one of their drawers.

“Yeah” Hwanwoong’s the one that replies, Dongju’s whined mumble quickly shushed. Seoho feels his phone buzz, quickly drops everything on the table before unlocking it and sitting down in one swift motion.

Hwanwoong says a quiet thank you, sits down close to Dongju, seemingly very decided to spoonfeed him. Seoho lets out a giggle, reaches out across the table to pat Dongju’s hand where it rests next to his bowl. Dongju turns it, palm up, hits up against Seoho’s hand before turning to Hwanwoong.

Seoho sits back, turns his attention to the messages on his phone.

There’s new messages from both Changmin and Youngjo.

**Youngjo** **🐾** **:**

| 

roommates helping me make something so ill take food over?  
  
---|---  
  
| 

ill be there in maybe an hour or so??  
  
| 

is that okay??? will u be alright? 😰  
  
| 

im worried;;;;  
  
**Seoho** **:**

| 

u  
  
| 

u dont have to  
  
| 

but yeah in an hour would be  
  
| 

fine  
  
| 

u really don’t have to tho were basically strangers??  
  
**Youngjo** **🐾** **:**

| 

u have the showcase and all later!! let me help some ☹  
  
| 

just a worried neighbour  
  
| 

take it like that hehe  
  
He switches over to the other chat, Changmin’s, picks up a stray soggy vegetable—glances up for a second to see Dongju’s face buried against Hwanwoong’s neck. He hears whispering, both from Hwanwoong as he strokes Dongju’s back and from Dongju—but he figures that’s a _couple thing_ that he wants out of, so he focuses back on his phone.

**Ji Changmin:**

| 

Chanhee said  
  
---|---  
  
| 

and I quote  
  
| 

Youre gonna end up biting off someones face if u go now  
  
| 

So by his advice i am Staying Home  
  
| 

Ill drop by at like 12 tho  
  
| 

Then we can go practice a few hours? Before going to the studio  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

kay-o~~  
  
| 

i’ll make sure were all alive by then lma o  
  
He checks the time, sees it’s 10:30am, then locks his phone and goes back to his food. Youngjo getting there in maybe an hour gives them maybe 30 minutes before Changmin breaks down their door—Seoho guesses that much is enough, doesn’t think Youngjo will really want to stay and chat for long past leaving some food and a greeting.

He looks up, leaves his phone on the table. “Changmin’s coming in a couple hours” Hwanwoong nods, holding a spoon up to Dongju’s lips. Seoho sticks his tongue out a little in disgust. “You guys are gross”

Hwanwoong throws him a mock glare, lowers the spoon. “Thanks”

Seoho gives him a smile.

————

Youngjo shows up at the door at about 11:20, a taller man with fluffy, blueish dark grey hair standing behind him and almost looking like he wants to _leave_. Seoho greets them both with a wave, smiles and cocks his head in question. Youngjo blinks at him—Seoho watches the way both Youngjo’s rain hat (it’s got hand painted roses on the front, _Ravn_ written in messy lettering and white paint) and the stranger’s plain black cap seem to twitch slightly, then calm down, less tense. “Who’s that?”

Youngjo pats the stranger on the shoulder, pushes him forward a little bit—Seoho sees now that he’s got a plain cloth bag slung over his shoulder, hears what might be glass and plastic containers clink together when he moves. Youngjo lowers his mask, gives Seoho a smile. “My roommate” The guy gives Seoho an awkward wave—half-smile soft on his face despite the almost _scary_ aura he gave when looking more serious. “Needed help carrying stuff” Seoho looks at the bag, raises an eyebrow.

“Doesn’t look all that heavy” He steps back, to the side of the door, motions for them to come in. They both do, and Seoho closes the door before pointing them towards the messy dining room table. “Just leave the stuff there, there’s space” The stranger nods, and Youngjo grabs the bag from him to take it.

Seoho snickers a little bit. “You said you needed help carrying?” Youngjo drops the bag, pulls out a couple of containers.

“Yeah?”

“You seem fine carrying all of that, though” Youngjo gives him a laugh in reply, then shrugs.

“Maybe I didn’t wanna carry it” He lays the three containers on the table—one big one that seems to hold soup, and two smaller ones with vegetables and what might be meat. Seoho looks at them curiously—then up at Youngjo. “And Geonhak was free, so”

The stranger, still standing by the door, lets out a choked laugh—almost a snort—leans against the wall slightly. Seoho looks between the two of them, feels like he can almost _see_ cat-like tails moving from side to side, both of their eyes attentive and then calm again.

“Geonhak’s your roommate?” Youngjo makes a little _ah_ sound, then nods at Seoho.

“Yeah, sorry, forgot to say” He laughs, a little embarrassed, and Seoho laughs back. “Also, well—” Youngjo folds up the bag, holds it awkwardly in his hands. “The food’s not much, but I think it should help?”

Seoho nods at him. “We’ve been eating just leftovers” He taps at the container lids happily “So this is more than enough, really” He straightens up, looks at Youngjo, still smiling. “Thanks a lot”

Youngjo nods, happy, leaves the bag in one hand to gesture at table with the free one. “You can give these back to me later” His green eyes seem to shine, and Seoho has to take a moment to _breathe_ —take in the way Youngjo seems to look at him the same as Ravn, like he’s the most precious being in the world.

Seoho inhales—lets out a quick exhale before replying. “Yeah” His hand taps on the table mindlessly “I’ll let you know”

There’s awkward silence for a fraction of a second—and then the bathroom door opens a little loudly, and both Geonhak and Youngjo turn to it at the same speed—eyes wide and respective hats _alert_.

Seoho laughs aloud—it’s adorable.

Hwanwoong steps out, thankfully fully clothed, eyes a little confused as he stares at the three people in the living room. He waves—slowly, wet lavender hair falling over his face, a small, awkward smile on his lips. “Youngjo-hyung?”

Seoho blinks, looks between the two of them—watches the way Youngjo’s nose scrunches up, relaxes—the way his rainhat moves every other direction before settling down. “Oh”

“Oh?” Seoho feels himself smiling awkwardly, looks at Hwanwoong with a raised eyebrow. “Do you know each other?”

Hwanwoong nods, smile a little wider as he walks towards them. “Yeah” He stops when he gets to the table, looks at the containers with wonder. “He’s from my club—we haven’t really talked much, but” He shrugs, looks up at Youngjo. Youngjo simply nods, smile easy and kind.

“Glad to see you’re feeling better? You didn’t come by all week—and Seoho-ssi said his roommate was sick, so, if you’re the roommate, then—”

“I’m good now!” He seems a little nervous—almost a little sorry in the way he smiles. “Had a rough week, though” He pauses, eyes on Seoho. “How do _you_ guys know each other, though?”

“He’s the cat guy” Hwanwoong raises an eyebrow, looks at Youngjo—the way his hat seems to sink down slightly, cheeks dusted pink.

“Huh” He pokes at the lid of a small container, opens it to pull out a small piece of meat—looks at it for a second before biting down. “Guess you _did_ seem like a romantic?”

Geonhak, quiet as he’s been, leaning against the door, snorts at that—covers his face with one hand. Just like the fluffy cat, Seoho muses, the guy’s cute—big and seemingly intimidating, but also fluffy and soft, awkward and careful.

He guesses what they say is true—that pets tend to resemble their owners.

Youngjo’s hat twitches, and he lets out a huff and a laugh, runs a hand through his hair. “Romantic is better than weird, I guess” He almost smirks, looks at Seoho. “I’ll take it”

“You’re both” Seoho laughs easily, pats Hwanwoong on the head. “Go tell Dongju there’s food? Changmin’s probably getting here soon” Hwanwoong nods, almost steals more food, but Seoho smacks his hand away with a quiet _tch_ —Hwanwoong sticks his tongue out, waves a _thank you for the food!!_ and a _bye-bye_ at Youngjo before walking towards the bedroom.

Once Hwanwoong closes the door, Seoho bursts out into little bouts of laughter—eventually into loud giggles that he hides behind his hand, eyes smiling and looking away from Youngjo. Youngjo gives him an amused sigh, little smile in place.

“The world sure is small, huh” Youngjo offers, eyes intently watching Seoho’s twitching—until his laughter dies down and he’s wiping almost-tears from his eyes.

“Tiny” He breaks into giggles again, grabs a napkin to wipe at the bowls from earlier with little care “What the hell”

“At least—” Youngjo starts, seems to hesitate a second— hair seeming to fall and hat flattening against his head slightly. Seoho looks at him, resists the urge to _pat_ at his head again. “You can trust me a little more, now?”

Seoho snorts. “I already trust you plenty, I think” He wipes at a spoon with the dirty napkin, “If not, you wouldn’t be in my house” He leaves the utensil back on the table, gives Youngjo a smile. “Now you gotta take me over to yours, one day” He nods, Youngjo’s eyes seem to perk up—bright. “Equivalent exchange”

“Maybe” He sees Geonhak grow a little alert—cap twitching and eyes focused on Seoho—nose scrunching up and foot twitching. Youngjo, on the other hand, still seems calm— smile on his face easy as he takes a step towards Seoho smoothly, breaks into his space for a second to blink up with bright green eyes at Seoho—then moves away. “But let’s get to know each other more first, yeah, Seoho-ssi?”

Seoho takes a step back—Youngjo does as well, then stretches his arms up, almost looks like a cat as he yawns softly.

“Yeah” Seoho’s voice is a mumble, hand covering his eyes in something like _nerves_ and whatever else his brain seems to be swimming in. Youngjo smiles brightly at him, almost eye-straining, and walks backwards towards the door.

“You seem busy, so” Seoho blinks. “I’ll get going now?”

“Ah, yeah” He laughs “Sorry, thanks for the food though, I’ll hit you up to return these” He points at the table and Youngjo nods, then turns to pull at Geonhak’s arm before turning back around and waving at Seoho.

“Good luck!” Seoho cocks his head to the side, Youngjo rolls his eyes, playful. “At your showcase, dude”

“Oh” Seoho laughs, pushes hair back from his face and laughs in a breath. “Thank you, yeah”

Geonhak waves and lets out a quiet _good luck_ of his own before he leaves, Youngjo walking behind him—Seoho closes the door after them, lets himself breathe a little.

He hears noise from the bedroom, again—kickstarts his brain back to functioning, figures he’ll try to get Dongju to eat something else before Changmin shows up to tear them all a new one.

————

“All that _fucking_ stress —" They’re sitting in the waiting room, hair sticky with sweat and makeup heavy on their faces. Seoho’s against the wall on the floor, phone held in his hands between his knees—screen turned off. Hwanwoong’s sitting next to him, head resting on Seoho’s shoulder and looking like he’s about to pass out. Changmin, complaining as he is, prods Hwanwoong’s face with a bottle of water. “Drink— God, I nearly—”

“Bit _me_ until I bled?” Chanhee’s sitting on a chair, back against the mirror, looking as bored as he is amused at his boyfriend’s pacing. Changmin turns to him, gives him a glare and throws the cap of the water bottle Seoho had taken from his hands. It hits Chanhee on the chest—he huffs, picks it up and leaves it at the small table in front of the mirror, behind him.

Seoho scrunches up his nose—pokes at Hwanwoong’s face with his phone until he lifts it up, Seoho presses the water bottle to his lips. “I don’t want to hear about your kinks, Chanhee” Chanhee throws him a glare, Seoho returns it with a smile—Changmin, of course, doesn’t even _deny_ the kinks.

Hwanwoong takes the bottle from Seoho’s hands, drinks down a little bit before putting it on the floor. Seoho grabs it—drinks some of it before offering it to Juyeon (who’s been sitting quietly on the bench close-by, watching Changmin complain and pace around the room with a fond smile). Juyeon stands—walks over to take it with a quiet _thank you_. Changmin lets out a sigh, stops pacing and stops to crouch down in front of Seoho and Hwanwoong.

“Go home, already” He runs a hand through the front of Hwanwoong’s hair, by his forehead. “You’re still sick”

Hwanwoong shrugs, lets Seoho pulls him forward and off the wall and his shoulder—he whines, throws the two of them a frown. “Sorry”

Changmin shrugs, stands up. “You made it, somehow” He runs a hand through his own hair, eyes careful. “Wouldn’t have minded if you stayed home—as long as you let us know beforehand and all, you know”

Seoho sighs, stands up and pulls Hwanwoong along. “He’s an idiot” Hwanwoong doesn’t deny it, leans against Seoho’s back and clings to his arm.

“So are you, hyung”

Seoho laughs at that, soft and quiet—then waves bye with a _see ya next week!_ and takes Hwanwoong outside.

————

The bus ride back is fairly quiet—it’s late, close to 11pm, most people likely already at home and resting. Hwanwoong’s by the window, gaze lost in passing streetlights outside and head resting against the glass. Seoho’s on his phone—he’s mindlessly scrolling through social media, eyes barely focused and trying not to think about Youngjo.

(It’s weird—he’s a little sad Youngjo hasn’t messaged him since leaving earlier—he also tries to not think about that.)

“Hyung?” Hwanwoong’s voice is quiet—he’s moved his head away from the window, is now barely holding himself up. Seoho locks his phone, turns to Hwanwoong with a hum—reaches out and pushes Hwanwoong’s head so he’s resting against his shoulder (Hwanwoong lets him, falls easily and lets his eyes close).

“What’s up?” Hwanwoong takes some time to reply—hands nervous where they grip his pants, loosen up, grip again.

“Should I—” He pauses again, blinks his eyes open—brings a hand up to his face. “Apologize? To Dongju, I mean” Seoho lets his head fall over Hwanwoong’s—Dongju’s sick now, of course. He stayed at their apartment, refusing to leave until he _knew_ Hwanwoong was back home safe, even if Dongju was the one sick right now, and even if Dongmyeong had tried to drag him back their house with half-worried, half-frustrated almost yelling.

“I think that’d be good” He feels Hwanwoong’s leg shaking—go up and down in anxious movement. He pats it once—Hwanwoong breathes out, rubs his head against Seoho’s shoulder, then lifts it up. Seoho turns a little to the side, smile in place as he pokes at Hwanwoong’s face with a finger. “I’ll go bother someone tonight, if you want?”

Hwanwoong pushes his hand away with a quiet scoff—then holds it between both of his. “Aren’t you tired, though?”

Seoho shrugs, laughs a little. “I never sleep” He pats Hwanwoong’s hands with his free hand until he lets go. “It’s fine, I’ll find where to crash” Hwanwoong frowns, seems about to object again—Seoho interrupts him, pokes at his cheek. “Go make up and make out”

Hwanwoong snorts—quiet, then pushes Seoho’s arms away to give him a side hug— “Thank you”

Seoho hums. “Anytime”

————

He drops off Hwanwoong at the door of their apartment with a quiet _good luck_ , then heads down the street—he figures he’ll head to the store that’s in the next street over, get something to eat and kill time by the charging stations that always seem to be free. It’s cold—has been getting colder lately, and he doesn’t have much over himself, so he walks quickly to try and avoid freezing.

The walk to the store is quiet—it’s close to midnight on a Saturday, so things are relatively calm, people sleeping and enjoying their weekend. A particularly strong gust of wind hits his face—makes him let out a noise when his bangs prickle at his eyes. He pushes them back, wonders if maybe he should’ve brought his glasses along as he steps into the store—feels fluorescent lighting sting and hears the little welcome chime at the edge of his consciousness.

He looks through aisles, not particularly craving anything—ends up settling for a simple cold drink and cheap chocolate. The cashier gives him a worried look, Seoho just smiles back at him—pays and leaves a tip before heading for the little table and chair outside and to the back. The sliding glass door opens quietly—Seoho walks through and closes it carefully, then drops chocolate over the dirty table and falls on the chair.

He twists the cap off his drink (some fruity mixture he didn’t want to bother thinking about)—sighs and places it on the table before taking a careful sip.

It tastes fine—it’s also cold.

It’s really _cold_.

He reaches for the chocolate—tears the wrapper open at the same time he hears quiet rustling on the grass next to him. He pulls the wrapper down—looks around as he bites on the chocolate softly.

There’s more rustling—and then he sees a blob of black, fluffy ears peeking with bright green from behind the short wooden fence. Seoho puts down the chocolate on the table, lowers himself a little on the chair.

“Ravn?” He hears a quiet meow, and then the cat jumps over and stretches in front of him. Seoho gives him a wave, Ravn meows back—then jumps on top of Seoho’s legs, settles on his thighs. Seoho blinks—then laughs, runs a hand through his fur.

Ravn’s tail flicks as he turns—sniffs at the chocolate open on the table. Seoho hits his head lightly—grabs the chocolate with his other hand. “Stop” Ravn meows—a whine, Seoho laughs. “You can’t have that, it’s not good for you”

He avoids the cat’s paw as he brings the chocolate to his mouth—bites down, laughs a little too loud when Ravn turns back and smacks at his face with a loud meow.

He does his best not to choke on the chocolate, folds the wrapper and shoves it in his pocket. He grabs Ravn’s paw, lifts it up in a mock handshake. Ravn looks unamused—yet strangely fond for a cat, pulls his paw back. His tail flicks from side to side, and then he rubs his head against Seoho’s face.

Seoho pats at his back, lets out a sigh. “What’re you doing around here?” Ravn stretches, settles to curl up in Seoho’s lap—yawns and puts his head down, claws digging into Seoho’s skin slightly. Seoho pokes at his ears—watches them twitch.

He looks peaceful—Seoho wishes he could sleep like that, at least once.

He sighs, manoeuvres to get his phone out— he settles a hand against Ravn’s warm, softly pats at his fur while he opens up his chat with Hwanwoong. He shoots him a quick _let me know if anything_ , thinks it over before sending a _take care both of u_ and leaving his phone on the table. He scratches between Ravn’s ears, hears and feels the cat purr softly against his legs.

Seoho almost feels like he could doze off—but he doesn’t, of course not.

He taps at Ravn’s head absent-mindedly, feels his breath come out in a cloud of white.

“Will your owner be awake at this time?” Ravn’s ears perk up, but otherwise he doesn’t move. “Feeling kinda lonely” His voice is a mumble—Ravn meows, then yawns as he sits up. Seoho pokes him on the nose, smiles. Ravn looks up at him—gives him a blink before jumping down and back to the floor.

Seoho frowns, tilts his head to the side in confusion. “Are you leaving?” Ravn meows, shakes his head—tail twirling into a little almost question mark. Seoho gives him a little wave—watches as the cat jumps over the fence and disappears.

He sighs, reaches into his pocket again, pulls out the chocolate—He looks at it, feels the texture of the wrapper, then leaves it down on the table, grabs his drink instead—he holds the bottle in front of his eyes, shakes it a little, then lowers it to drink.

He plays with the cap on the table—entertained enough with the sound of plastic on dirt and something like metal.

He leaves the bottle aside again—ponders on closing it when he feels himself shiver. He puts the chocolate back in his pocket, checks how much there’s left on the bottle. When he sees it’s enough to down it at once, he picks it up and drinks all of it—then reaches for the cap and twists it back on.

He stands up, throws the bottle into the recycling bin—walks back inside the store. He rubs his hands together, pulls the mask back properly over his mouth. The inside is almost blindingly bright still—aisles full and empty and fluorescent buzzing. There’re some moths hanging out by the ceiling, and Seoho looks at them curiously before walking to the entrance—waving at the tired cashier and heading outside.

He checks his phone—stops walking to scroll through congratulation messages and whatnot for the showcase going smoothly—praises about his dancing and so on. He smiles to himself, replies to a few of them with quick _thanks_ , is ready to turn his screen off when he hears footsteps and sped-up, careful breathing.

“Caught you” Seoho lowers his phone, turns a little to the side—catches sight of Youngjo, cheeks red and beanie halfway off his head. His jacket’s unzipped, sweater dishevelled and button-up’s collar undone and crooked. He’s smiling—warm breath leaving out in hurried clouds of white.

Seoho blinks, shoves his hands in his pockets as he gives him his full attention. “Caught?” Youngjo comes to a halt, pushes hair off his face—he looks bright and comfortable ( _warm_ , even).

“Saw y— Ravn saw you around here, so” Seoho laughs.

“You really talk to your cat a lot, huh?” Youngjo looks sheepish then, fixes his beanie—his hair seems to twitch down in embarrassment.

“Not—” He purses his lips, looks to the side. “Maybe, I guess” Seoho huffs out a breath—giggles until he feels a little warmer.

“You didn’t need to come over, though” He plays with the wrapper in his pocket—feels the edges of it almost prickle and scratch at his skin. “It’s like midnight”

Youngjo gives him a laugh—shrugs. “I’m free tomorrow, anyway” Seoho closes his eyes—a long half-second, opens them again with a hum.

He feels wind on his skin, shivers again and wonders why he didn’t at least steal a scarf from Hwanwoong before leaving him at home—he’s dressed in only a thin jacket and a sweater, having left even his gloves forgotten. Youngjo’s eyes fall on his shoulders—move to his face in curious worry.

“Aren’t you cold?” Seoho feels something run up his spine, but shakes his head.

“Nah” Youngjo frowns—beanie seeming to flatten down and twitch again. “It’s not that cold”

“You’re shivering” Seoho laughs—awkward—lifts a hand in a dismissive motion.

“Am not” Youngjo shrugs off his jacket—Seoho lets out a noise of complaint. “Stop, I’m fine”

“You’re gonna catch a cold” He finishes taking it off—shakes his head a little, then offers his jacket to Seoho.

Tempting.

But no.

“I won’t” He pushes at Youngjo’s offering hand softly with his own and Youngjo sighs, exasperated.

“Take it” Seoho shakes his head.

“No, put it back—” Youngjo interrupts with a loud sigh, and then he’s moving—steps light as he gets behind Seoho and drapes the jacket over his shoulders, then steps back. Seoho turns, hands flying to keep the jacket in place so it doesn’t fall (and because it’s _warm—_ warm in so many ways Seoho thinks it might be just a little dizzying).

“Warm, right?” Seoho rolls his eyes—feels a smile pull at the corners of his mouth.

“Whatever you say” He pulls the jacket closer around himself, sighs quietly in defeat before putting it on properly—it’s soft, warm and about the right size to fit alright, and Seoho’s begrudgingly thankful he’s not freezing anymore. “Aren’t _you_ cold, though?”

Youngjo shakes his head, rolls his shoulders back. “I’m fine” Seoho squints at him, Youngjo smiles— gives him a soft pat on the arm. “You’ve been outside for longer”

Seoho huffs, shoves his hands into Youngjo’s jacket’s pockets. “Fine” Youngjo hums—lets out a quiet _good_ before they both fall into silence.

Seoho reaches into his own jacket’s pockets, pulls out the chocolate—shoves it a little in Youngjo’s direction. Youngjo looks at his hand, beanie twitching in curiosity before he grabs it, eyes pretty under streetlights.

“Wanna walk a bit?” He snaps off a piece of the chocolate, then hands it back to Seoho. Seoho shrugs, pulls down his mask and bites on his own piece of chocolate.

“Sure” He watches as Youngjo takes a bite off the little piece of chocolate—lick it a little before eating the other half. Seoho pokes at his hand— playful. “Can’t go home for a while, anyway”

Youngjo swats at him—then motions down the street. Seoho follows—and then they’re walking, steps echoing in the quiet of the night.

Seoho checks his phone—it’s past midnight.

“Why can’t you go home? Did you have a fight with Hwanwoong, or—?” Seoho shakes his head.

“Not me” He crinkles his nose, burrows deeper into the jacket. “Dongju—his boyfriend—it’s not that they fought they’re just—” He takes out one of his hands, motions at the air with a frustrated noise. “They need to talk— need some space, so”

Youngjo lets of a quiet hum, cocks his head to the side cutely—beanie twitching with the movement. “You’re a nice friend”

Seoho shrugs. “Feel bad for Dongju, ‘s all” 

“Uh huh” Seoho steps forward—uses his lifted leg to kick at him softly. Youngjo laughs—sound breathy and careless, and Seoho fakes annoyance.

They walk in silence after that—turn a few corners until they reach a small park, streetlights flickering over benches and swings covered in dew. Seoho enters first, skips until he reaches a clean-enough looking bench. He waves Youngjo over—looks at the sleeve for a second before smirking and going down to use it to wipe at the bench.

Youngjo whines—walks faster and almost pulls Seoho’s arm back. Seoho’s faster, pulls his arm and runs behind the bench while laughing. Youngjo follows him—they do a whole turn, and then Seoho sits, wipes the little water on the sleeves on his own pants—looks up at Youngjo, smiling.

Youngjo sighs, falls on the bench next to him with a pout.

“I’m gonna have to wash it”

“You gave it to me” Seoho’s voice is sing-song. He lifts his hands up, over his face—blows a breath into his hands, feels his mask against his chin—resists the urge to pull it off and leave it aside for now—resists the urge to pull it back up and walk away.

Youngjo leans forward—his hair seems to twitch, like always—seems to curiously move here and there, as if scanning the area even if under his beanie.

“Clothes are meant to be dirtied anyway” Youngjo snorts out a _no_ , and Seoho laughs against his hands.

They fall into silence again—Seoho lets his legs swing and bounce, sings under his breath. Youngjo leans back against the bench’s backrest, eyes closed and face calm—one hand against the bench, fingers tapping along to Seoho’s rhythm.

Seoho breathes out—ends the song, takes a pause to try and find the next one he wants to sing.

“Your voice is really pretty” Youngjo’s comes out in a breath. He opens his eyes—focuses them on Seoho’s face, gives him a smile as soft as his gaze.

Seoho feels a little choked up—feels a laugh bubble up and out his lips, giggles quietly. “’s that so?” He smiles back at him, avoids eye contact—turns to the streetlight that flickers beside the bench.

“Do you—” Youngjo starts, leans forward a little—plays with the two rings on his hands. “Do music—like, sing seriously?”

Seoho lowers his hands, brings his gaze back. He lets a playful _hmmm_ fall from his lips before he replies. “I take classes, yeah—Not like I’ll ever do anything with it, though” Youngjo cocks his head to the side—his beanie twitches, falls in apparent sadness. Seoho smiles. “Not my field, I think"

“It really _is_ pretty, though” Seoho laughs again, Youngjo’s beanie moves a little forward.

“Good to know” He plays with his hands on his lap, fingers drumming in uneven patterns as he swings his legs. “Thank you, also”

Youngjo only smiles, flattens his palm against the bench.

“Is Ravn not here with you? Or Leedo…”

“They’re—at home” Youngjo runs a hand through the front of his hair—over his beanie. “Guess he felt like sleeping”

Seoho pouts. “I wanted to pet him”

“Didn’t you, before I—he left?” Seoho pulls at the collar of the jacket—brings it up to cover more of his face.

“He left too fast” He sighs “Didn’t even get to play with his ears”

Youngjo lets out a snort. “Don’t think he’d like that”

“You never know” He stretches overhead, looks up—a moth passes by, wings fluttering and passing by the light of a lamp. Youngjo’s eyes catch it—follow it attentively, beanie going up and alert suddenly—he follows its movement, hands twitching on the seat and posture almost _menacing_.

Seoho can’t help laughing—doesn’t even bother to cover his face. It breaks Youngjo out of focus—moth flying away and out of their sight—he turns back to Seoho, hair looking like it’s about to stand on end (reminds Seoho of a startled cat—when their hackles are raised and they stare at some unknown entity with wide eyes before running out of the room).

“You do that a lot” Youngjo looks a little panicked—eyes wide and limbs tense. Seoho laughs a little more, watches Youngjo’s mouth half-open—his fangs, still a little too pointy and long, peeking out slightly before he closes it again.

“Do what?”

“Chase moths” Youngjo blinks—his lips part again in a soundless _ah_. “Just chase things—like a cat”

“Cat…”

“Cat!” Seoho laughs again, and Youngjo lets out a little noise—almost a whine, before sitting back, pulling his beanie further down.

“Am I cute, then?” Seoho snorts— feels something bubble and hide at the back of his throat.

“Cats are cuter” He gives Youngjo a once over—fakes having to think for a second before he smirks. “You’re alright”

Youngjo lets out an offended gasp—Seoho snickers under his hand.

The light behind them flickers—thrice and once more—Youngjo glances at it, seems attentive to its gentle buzz. Seoho’s phone buzzes, too, in his pocket—he watches the way Youngjo’s eyes flick over—the way his beanie points just a little bit more towards Seoho—

Seoho taps at his pocket—a steady rhythm, but leaves the phone unattended.

“Ah” One side of Youngjo’s beanie twitches up, and Seoho gives him a smile, playful glint in his eyes. “I’ve been thinking—”

“About?”

“Cats” Youngjo’s hair twitches—eyes curious.

“What about them?”

“If they were to be able to become human—like, for a day—do you think they’d act any different?”

Youngjo blinks—seems slightly taken aback, almost _confused_ , eyes wide and hair under his beanie up and alert—

Again, he looks fluffed up, and Seoho laughs.

“They’re cats, right—So maybe they’d just laze around all day? Or do you think they’d be like ‘ah, I gotta get a job…’” He accompanies his talking with a little hand wave—with his voice down to fake resignation—then going up again with a lilt before he breaks into a short giggle. Youngjo watches him, amused—huffs out a laugh.

“Depends on the cat?” He lets out a half-laugh, breaks himself off and clears his throat. “Some are more active, some are more responsible, maybe?”

“But they all sleep a lot? Like, so much—” Youngjo laughs—a little easier now, and Seoho can’t seem to stop smiling. “All of them, really! Even if they were to get a job, what if they fell asleep—ah, would they have to adapt for cat-people… maybe that’d be good progress for people with sleep problems, too”

“It would be, yeah” Seoho lowers his hands from where they’ve gone up, expressive and lively—turns to look at Youngjo, still smiling—

And he nearly gets the breath knocked out of him simply because—because Youngjo looks so _fond_ , looks so _happy_ and as beautiful as the stars overhead and—

And Seoho’s not—he’s not used to it.

He takes in a breath—feels sweat at the back of his neck—laughs awkwardly and clenches at his sleeves.

It’s cold, still, but something feels incredibly warm.

“What do—” He swallows, feels words escape—clears his throat and tries again. “What do _you_ think, though?”

Youngjo’s beanie twitches again as he blinks—seems to _truly_ think it over for a second. “It would help, even if cats went back to—being cats the next day, or week or whatever—it’d help a lot”

Seoho nods, brings his hands up to his face—covers himself and laughs a little more again.

Distantly, he hears what might be a bus passing by—hears the sound of traffic and the buzz of the city.

Close to him, he feels his phone in his pocket—feels air on his skin, the sound of streetlights off and on again— Feels his hair against his eyes—prickling and cold.

He lifts a hand up to his bangs, holds them carefully—thinks for a second or two. Youngjo cocks his head to the side—both sides of his beanie twitch.

Both their phones go off—but neither pays them any mind.

Seoho lets go of his hair, looks at his hands and starts singing again— soft and careless, a melody he’s already used to.

Youngjo listens—taps at the wood absent-mindedly to the rhythm.

And then he’s singing along—a quiet hum that’s almost lost to the air— and the night goes on—warm under layers of dew and the ghost of rain.

————

Tuesday morning, before leaving for his dance class, at around 10am, finds Seoho sitting down on the kitchen counter looking at his phone. Hwanwoong’s half-awake, thrown over the table and texting Dongju (who shouldn’t be texting in class, but Seoho’s not one to scold him about that), a pile of dirty bowls dangerously close to toppling over close to the edge of the table. There are sauces and whatever else spilled on the table, and they haven’t picked up dirty napkins from the week before—they’re sticking to each other and almost on the floor, in true college student lifestyle fashion.

Seoho would clean it up—in fact, was about to, when he got a string of text messages and ended up where he is: rereading it over and over again, sitting on the kitchen counter and _confused_.

The messages are from Youngjo, and they’re overall fairly simple, nothing extra or anything of the sort—but Seoho can’t bring himself to _process_ them, isn’t sure how he’s supposed to take them.

**Youngjo** **🐾** **:**

| 

do u have time tomorrow morning??  
  
---|---  
  
| 

i have class at 10 so i was wondering  
  
| 

if we could maybe meet up?,, for breakfast!! haha,,  
  
| 

uve mentioned u dont tend to eat much in the morning but  
  
| 

yeah  
  
| 

lemme know😈  
  
Seoho taps on his screen to stop it from turning off, lets it shine bright against his glasses as he reads over lines of text again. He had been thinking about meeting up with Youngjo again soon, even if his finals are looming closer and he feels like he’s about to drop dead with stress—but he figured it’d be at night, a passing moment before he headed home and Youngjo headed off to do whatever it was he did instead of sleeping.

He figured it’d be quick—just him giving Youngjo his thanks again together with his food containers that Seoho still had at home. Figured they’d meet up accidentally by his door, and then Seoho would run upstairs, get the stuff, go down—and that’d be it.

He didn’t expect Youngjo to invite him for breakfast—didn’t expect Youngjo to remember the few times Seoho had told him that he didn’t even eat before classes at times, despite how he did, in fact, like eating.

It’s not like eating breakfast with others is _weird_ , no, he figures it’s something people normally do—sometimes he goes out to eat with Dongju or Hwanwoong, goes out on walks and whatnot, but—

But it’s usually not—well, not like this. The invitation is a little weird, he thinks, something feels _different_ than when he texts Keonhee that he’s going to raid his fridge if he doesn’t agree to meeting up at the closest fast food restaurant they can find open at some ungodly hour of the night.

It feels like—

“Woong” He pushes himself off the counter, walks towards the dining room table with quick steps. Hwanwoong looks up from his phone, leaves it face down on the table with a gloved hand.

(God, yeah, they have to get the heating checked.)

“Hm?” He’s still sleepy, Seoho can tell, his eyes are barely open and his hair is a mess—but he’s awake enough to reply at decent speed, so.

“Am I—” He drops his phone on the table in front of Hwanwoong, face up and with the screen turned on. Hwanwoong cocks an eyebrow at him, grabs the phone and reads through the messages. “What does this, like, mean?”

Hwanwoong blinks, reads through the messages again, then turns off the phone screen and looks up at Seoho.

“It means” He pauses, sighs, slides the phone in Seoho’s direction. “that he wants to go have breakfast with you. Tomorrow”

“Why?” Hwanwoong looks up at him In disbelief.

“Aren’t you friends?”

“Yes, but—” Seoho runs a hand through his hair “Friends don’t—like”

Hwanwoong sighs again, looks at him in what could almost be described as _pity_. “Hyung” He lifts his hands, grabs one of Seoho’s between both of them (his gloves are warm, Seoho isn’t complaining). “Stop overthinking” Seoho huffs out a breath, pulls his hand away from Hwanwoong in defiance (he regrets it immediately, his hand feels cold).

“I’m not—just” Hwanwoong shushes him loudly, smacks at his hand.

“You are” Seoho frowns.

“Am not—”

“Hyung” Hwanwoong pushes himself up, stands up and takes a step forward. “I know you’re, like, emotionally constipated—”

“Am _not_ —”

“But” He throws him a pointed look, Seoho takes a step back—feels oddly intimidated despite Hwanwoong looking like a particularly fluffed up baby tiger right now, covered in jackets and blankets as he is. “It’s fine to go out and have people you like, you know?”

“I have—I have people I like” Hwanwoong rolls his eyes, Seoho shoves his hands into his jacket pockets and looks away—at some point past Hwanwoong’s head. “I hang out with people I like”

“So? What’s the problem, then?” Seoho frowns, glances at his phone on the table and breathes in—a second.

“None—there’s no problem” He licks at his lips, Hwanwoong smiles at him—raises a hand to smack at his cheek before he pulls away.

“It’s fine, then, right?” Seoho blinks—breathes, lets a second pass. Hwanwoong sits back down, picks up his phone when it buzzes again.

“I don’t know” Hwanwoong opens up his chat with Dongju, side-glances at Seoho.

“Go eat with him, hyung” Seoho groans—lets himself fall and sit on the table, pushes his phone further away.

“It’s just—” Hwanwoong huffs angrily, drops his phone face up on the table—chat open and conversation as mushy as it is annoying. Seoho reads it over (a mistake on his part) and grimaces—Hwanwoong covers his screen with one hand and sleeve.

“Don’t try to change the topic, first of all” Seoho laughs—then cuts himself off, caught and awkward.

“I wasn’t” He sounds whiny— voice pitched high. Hwanwoong looks up at him, turns off his screen, again, then reaches out—holds one of Seoho’s hands over the table.

“Second—” Seoho tenses up—then relaxes in his hold, lets Hwanwoong play with his fingers absent-mindedly. Hwanwoong gives him a smile. “Don’t make excuses, hyung, just go—it’s fine”

Seoho sighs, lifts up his fingers so they tap against Hwanwoong’s—once, twice—and then he pushes against the table to stand up. Hwanwoong lets his hand go quietly, watches him with badly hidden worry. Seoho fixes his sleeves, then steps towards Hwanwoong and runs a head through his hair.

Hwanwoong lets out a noise—startled, reaches up and pushes Seoho’s hand away. Seoho giggles—short and high, then moves his hand away.

“Make sure to eat something before you leave, yeah?” His voice is quiet, and then Hwanwoong blinks—gives him a mumbled out _‘kay, hyung_.

One of the dirty napkins fall to the floor—Seoho picks it up on the way back to the kitchen.

————

Seoho wakes up after about three hours of sleep at 7am on Wednesday. He had agreed to meet up with Youngjo at around 8:30, at a little café close enough to Hwanwoong’s University (which also happened to be Youngjo’s, as they had all found out when discovering they were both in the same club) so that Youngjo could make it to his normal person 10am class, which meant that Seoho had to leave home at maybe 7:40am at most, just to be there on time—

Which maybe wouldn’t be so bad, but, of course, Seoho can _never_ sleep—not when he should.

And today is no exception, of course—even worse than usual, actually, because his head is spinning nonstop and he doesn’t even know _why_ —

He’s sitting on his bed, blankets drawn around him and hiding him in a particularly nervous little cocoon—he wants to talk to Hwanwoong, bother him so he can calm down and figure himself out, but Hwanwoong had gotten home a little before Seoho had managed to fall asleep—tired and with a bruised knee, and had fallen asleep as soon as he hit the bed with a mumbled _hi_ and _g’night._

(He wonders absently if Dongju knew about Hwanwoong being back at his usual—practicing until it hurt even though he had been sick just the week, the _day_ , prior—he guesses that yes, but no, probably doesn’t exactly know _what_ time Hwanwoong was getting home, if anything.)

He sighs, runs a hand through his hair and stands up—leaves his cocoon behind to run to the wardrobe to pull out whatever he can find first— whole body shivering as he quickly grabs a shirt and sweater—changes as quick as he can before running for pants and then back to his bed to search for wherever his jacket had fallen.

Kneeling on his bed, he fixes the end of the sleeves—fixes the neck under his hoodie before taking his jacket, putting it on and standing up. He reaches for whatever hat he finds, gets gloves from Hwanwoong’s desk—then walks towards Hwanwoong’s bed, fixes the comforter over him.

“Woong” Hwanwoong doesn’t move, Seoho sighs, pokes at his face. “Just a sec, hey” Hwanwoong whines—quiet noise at the back of his throat and out his nose, and Seoho laughs, runs a hand through the front of his hair.

“Eat, kay? Else Dongju will have my head later” Hwanwoong huddles further into his blankets, lets out a noise of agreement. Seoho pokes at his cheek. “Hwanwoong”

“ _Okay_ ” It’s drawn out, whiny and mumbled against his pillow—but it’s enough of a reply, so Seoho figures it’s okay enough to leave him alone to rest. He ruffles his hair once more—just to bother him and hear him complain in his sleep, frown on his face as he buries further into the mess of blankets he’s hidden under.

It’s cute—Seoho walks over to his bed, grabs his phone before quickly walking back to Hwanwoong’s bedside. He opens his chat with Dongju—snaps a quick picture of Hwanwoong’s messy hair poking out from under blankets and sends it with a simple _srry for wakin u up early if I do but after last weeks stress u desreve this one thign_ (he tacks on a _demon_ right afterwards, to add flavour) before shoving his phone in his front pocket and heading out of the room.

He checks the time once he reaches the kitchen—makes sure all lights are off. He sees it’s a little past 7:30 and sighs, picks up his coat from the living room and grabs his bag and keys before heading for his shoes and out the door.

————

He gets there a little after 8am, texts Youngjo quickly to let him know he’s there, orders some fruit juice and sits by a corner close to the heating. The place isn’t empty, but it’s only full enough that it doesn’t look dead—there’s people here and there, most getting takeout and looking like they’d rather be anywhere but there. His face feels a little _too_ warm, and he doesn’t know _why_ —it’s driving him up the wall, and his hands feel shaky and sweaty under gloves—so he gets his phone out and texts Keonhee (the only person in their friend group who could _maybe_ be awake at this time).

**Seoho:**

| 

its cold and i didnt wann drink tea  
  
---|---  
  
| 

so all i have is thiscupofj uice  
  
| 

and i crave enternainment  
  
**Keonhee:**

| 

I got work at 9 but?  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

that works  
  
| 

so ive been thinkign trgith  
  
| 

right  
  
| 

and first of all i think im gonna go crash at ur house some time my heating broek  
  
**Keonhee:**

| 

Is Woong staying with Dongju??  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

Think so  
  
| 

That aside  
  
**Keonhee:**

| 

I’ll call him later then  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

if u were to wake up as an earhtwrom  
  
**Keonhee:**

| 

I don’t like where this is going  
  
| 

I would actually! like to leave!!!!  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

coward  
  
**Keonhee:**

| 

-`д´-  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

Don’t u wanna  
  
| 

wigglhy  
  
**Keonhee:**

| 

No  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

You could like live in dirt  
  
**Keonhee:**

| 

I don’t think I’d like that!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
  
Another chat buzzes with a notification, and Seoho blinks—reads over the name and inhales sharply. It buzzes again, Youngjo’s second message on the screen for a second before it blinks away. Seoho switches over, leaves whatever Keonhee last sent on read— hovers over his screen and rereads Youngjo’s messages.

 _I’m in line but I can’t see u?_ followed by _do you want anything to drink, also?_

Seoho taps at the table—once, twice, thrice—then looks up and away from his corner, towards the cashier and back, following the short line of customers. At the end, behind two other guys, and in front of someone else, is Youngjo, one hand in his coat pocket and the other holding his phone by his face—fingerless gloves black and pretty against his skin.

Like always, he’s wearing a beanie—face a little red from the cold and black coat over nice-fitting pants.

Seoho doesn’t know all that much about fashion, no, but Youngjo seems to like to dress up. At least more than Seoho, who had grabbed one of Hwanwoong’s huge sweaters and put it over what he now suspected was a shirt that was also Hwanwoong’s.

There’s a little clip-on rose by the line of Youngjo’s front pocket—and Seoho snorts into his hand at how stupidly _corny_ Youngjo always manages to feel.

Youngjo’s looking around—eyes wide as his beanie twitches in each and every direction—it’s cute. His eyes focus on a point of the menu, hand gripping at his phone a little tighter—beanie seeming to point in Seoho’s general direction, almost as if—

As if…locating him?

Seoho wonders if that’d be possible—if maybe Youngjo could just locate him with the movement of his hair. He raises a hand in an awkward wave, weakly beckons Youngjo over with his fingers.

Youngjo’s ears twitch—as does his nose, cheeks cute with their movement before he looks over—he finds Seoho, eventually, off in a corner, and smiles at him. Seoho gives him a wave, raises his juice with the other hand to signal that _no, he doesn’t need anything_ —Youngjo waves back, eyes half-closed in a smile and happy—gives him a nod before stepping forward in line.

Seoho turns back to his table—locks eyes with the bubbles in his glass before he swirls it once, against the table, and then raises it to take a sip.

His phone buzzes again—he checks it to see it’s still barely 8:20, sees a new incoming message from Dongju. He opens it, puts his glass down again and pushes it back slightly to get a better hold of his phone.

**S. Dongju:**

| 

what  
  
---|---  
  
| 

oh  
  
| 

hehehhehehe  
  
| 

thank you  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

;)  
  
**S. Dongju:**

| 

don’t do that ew  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

rude but fine  
  
**S. Dongju:**

| 

did you get the heating fixed yet  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

lmao  
  
| 

no  
  
| 

wer freezing  
  
**S. Dongju:**

| 

ugh  
  
| 

i’ll call someone over  
  
| 

i'll drag woongie-hyung over then or he’s gonna get sick  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

again  
  
**S. Dongju:**

| 

again  
  
| 

don’t get sick either  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

are u fine now tho  
  
| 

u threw up all over my bed on sunday  
  
**S. Dongju:**

| 

i'm fine  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

dongju  
  
**S. Dongju:**

| 

fever  
  
| 

k. but that’s it  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

how are u gonna drag him then  
  
**S. Dongju:**

| 

well i might be sick  
  
| 

but i have a brother  
  
| 

who knows where u live  
  
| 

profit :)  
  
Seoho makes a mental note to call Dongmyeong over and thank him for his service ( _again,_ guy might be a demon, but he always ended up helping out one way or another), then turns off his phone screen—looks up to see Youngjo approaching the table with what looks like coffee and a slice of cake. He leaves them on the table, pulls back the chair across Seoho and stops—clears his throats and waves a little shyly.

“Hey” Seoho waves back—watches the way one side of Youngjo’s beanie moves from side to side—the little tufts of black hair that stick out and fall on his face, definitely shorter than the last time Seoho had seen him.

“It’s cold” Seoho gives Youngjo a smile, then lifts a finger up and points at Youngjo’s bangs. “Did you trim it?” Youngjo blinks—reaches up to his own hair, almost brushes against Seoho’s hand on the way (Seoho quickly pulls away).

“Yeah—had time yesterday, just a bit, but” He laughs a little, plays with his hair between his fingers. “New month and all, so”

“Looks cute” Seoho reaches forward again, runs his fingers lightly through Youngjo’s bangs when the other’s hand falls a little. “What I can see of it, anyway” He laughs at that, pulls away—Youngjo laughs along, breaths quiet and soft.

“Thanks” He scrunches up his nose—Seoho watches the beanie twitch down sadly. “Roommate said it looked weird, though”

“Geonhak, right?” Youngjo nods.

“Him” He reaches forward, grabs the coffee cup to carefully take off the lid. “But if you like it, I guess I don’t have to listen to him” he empties one tablespoon of sugar into the cup, mixes. Seoho cocks his head to the side.

“Coffee?” Youngjo takes the spoon out, places it over a folded napkin on the table.

“Do you… want some?” Seoho blinks, shakes his head.

“Don’t like it” Youngjo’s mouth turns into a little _oh_ , he cocks his head to the opposite side of Seoho’s. “Got juice”

He lifts his own drink, already halfway done, sips up enough to soothe his throat that has suddenly gone way too dry.

“Oh” Seoho lowers the glass, hears it _clunk_ against the table. Youngjo watches it a little too intently, Seoho almost wants to laugh. “I forgot your stuff” He pouts, Youngjo tears away from a little juice bubble, looks at Seoho’s eyes. “Sorry”

“It’s okay” He leans back on his chair, Seoho finds himself leaning forward— pulling the chair with him, wood against wood scraping against the air. “There’s always next time, Seoho-ssi”

Seoho taps against the table—against his glass, looks away from the table and from Youngjo when he speaks up. “You can, like—” His eyes move back to Youngjo’s face, open and curious, for a second, then dart back towards a wall. “Just call me Seoho, it’s fine”

“Ah—okay, yeah, okay” Seoho looks back at him—almost wants to look away when he sees Youngjo looks so incredibly _happy_ , hands holding onto the edge of the table in what almost seems like excitement. “Just Seoho, then—uh, you can just call me Youngjo, too”

It’s— it’s strangely awkward, and Seoho can’t help but laugh. He places both hands over his face—covers his mouth as he giggles softly, eyes half closed and voice high. Youngjo looks confused—makes Seoho laugh harder when he lets out a quiet noise, something between a _what_ , _why_ and _did I say something—?_

Seoho shakes his head, keeps a hand over his mouth and lowers the other to the table.

“It’s just—” He lowers his other hand, throws Youngjo a smile—careless and amused. “We’re so awkward” He snickers again, looks down at the table as he stretches both of his hands. “I don’t even know why, feels weird—feels funny”

Youngjo lets out a breath—seems to lose tension, beanie falling as he lets himself smile back at Seoho, calm and a little easier. “Just, dunno, felt weird?” Seoho snorts, and Youngjo lets out a little laugh.

They fall into silence after that, easier this time—Seoho sipping his juice and Youngjo simply staring at his steaming coffee. Seoho looks at him, looks at the cake between the two of them on the table, takes off one gloves to reach forward and poke at it.

“Aren’t you eating this? Hell” He points to Youngjo’s coffee, confused. “Aren’t you drinking that?”

“It’s too hot” He smiles—sheepish. “Tongue’s sensitive”

“And you bought yourself hot coffee?” Youngjo shrugs, plays with the little pin on his coat.

“I like it, just gotta wait a bit more”

“Cat’s tongue, huh” Youngjo tenses up slightly— loosens in a second. Seoho finds it amusing—every time he talks about cats Youngjo seems to tense up, he wonders if it has anything to do with him keeping two at home.

“What about the cake, though?”

“Oh, that one’s” Youngjo pushes the little plate a little more towards Seoho, looks happy when Seoho pokes at it again. “Yours. You can have it”

“What is it?” Seoho grabs the small spoon, pokes at the coke with it.

“Chocolate—you were eating chocolate the other day, so”

“Thanks” Seoho pokes at the cake again—then takes off a piece to eat it. It’s soft—sweet and nice on the tongue. He finds himself smiling, takes another piece and points the spoon towards Youngjo. “Here, you bought it”

Youngjo blinks—seems about to say something, instead reaches out and takes the spoon. There’s a second of their fingers brushing, and Seoho almost feels like jolting back—back and out the door and back home to hide his face and pretend he’s not affected by something like _contact._

He doesn’t—he stays still, lets Youngjo takes the spoon, eat the cake shyly before putting it back over the plate.

“It’s good, right?” Youngjo speaks over a mouthful of cake, then leans forward and gets closer to the top of his coffee. Seoho plays with the spoon, takes off another piece.

“Yeah, thought it’d be a lot sweeter, but it’s nice—” Youngjo looks happy, and Seoho’s about to comment on something else when he stops, stares at Youngjo—

Because Youngjo’s mouth is hovering close to the edge of the cup, and then he’s sticking his tongue out slightly to lap at the coffee—before he’s recoiling, tongue stuck out and eyes upset (his beanie looks upset too, a little shaky and startled).

Seoho feels a little bad, yeah, but he can’t help but laugh—maybe a little too louder than acceptable so early and sitting at a café. Youngjo pouts at him, eyes slightly teary and pupils looking much like a startled cat’s—

God, Seoho breathes—sips on his juice a little to calm down—Youngjo’s adorable.

(He doesn’t dwell on that thought, not for now.)

Youngjo whines—quiet and embarrassed, grabs a napkin and brings it up to cover his face, makes Seoho laugh louder and nearly choked on his juice.

“Why did you—” He breathes in, breaks into another fit of giggles. Youngjo seems to be licking at the napkin, dabbing it against his burnt tongue—at the very least, his eyes are going back to normal, less dilated and huge-looking. “What did you think was gonna happen?”

“I don’t—” Youngjo frowns, speaks from behind the napkin “know” He lowers it, tip of his tongue stuck out for a second before he licks at his lips—stops with his mouth half-open. “I wanted to check it”

Seoho snorts—laughs again. “You could’ve stuck in your finger?”

“Yeah” Youngjo pouts again, seems to be _softly_ glaring at the cup of coffee.

“Is it that hot, though?” Seoho reaches out, holds the cup between both of his hands. “It feels just warm enough”

Youngjo grabs the cake spoon again, takes off a piece with a little more fudge towards the edge. “Too hot still” He takes the cake, bites around the spoon carefully—only takes half the piece. “Tongue hurts”

“You stuck it in the cup” Youngjo finishes munching—bites down on the other piece and puts the spoon down. Seoho looks at him in amusement. “You brought this upon yourself.” Youngjo whines, eyes on the cup and hair twitching. Seoho laughs a little, feels it at the back of his nose—brings the cup towards himself.

Youngjo’s eyes follow it—follow the way Seoho slips one hand down and leaves it flat against the table, the other grabbing the cup properly to bring it up to his lips. He taps it against the bottom one—then takes a small sip, feels the warmth against his tongue.

“It’s not that bad” He scrunches his nose, lowers the cup back on the table and pushes it towards Youngjo. “Dramatic” He sticks his tongue out a second, then grabs the spoon on the half-eaten cake and quickly cuts off a piece. “Bitter, though”

“It’s coffee?” Seoho brings the spoon up to his mouth, bites at the piece before he drops metal against the plate with a dry _clack_.

“Don’t you put sugar in it?” Youngjo blinks, taps at the sides of his cup as he shrugs.

“It’s fine like this” Seoho gives him a smile, grabs the spoon again to point it towards Youngjo’s nose.

“Too hot, though?” Youngjo rolls his eyes, lets out a huff—grabs the cup and brings it closer with both hands. “You could’ve told them to cool it a little”

“I like” Youngjo lifts the cup up, close to his lips—feels it with his upper lip and frowns slightly. “–holding it when it’s warm, though”

Seoho laughs, drops the spoon back on the table and close to the nearly finished slice of cake. “Get a handwarmer?”

“Nah” Youngjo blinks, sips a little of his coffee before putting the cup on the table with a smile. “Texture’s weird” He crinkles his nose slightly, “Don’t like it”

Seoho looks at him, blinks twice, “Exquisite” He plays with the spoon, smile on his face as he spreads remnants of fudge and makes patterns over the plate. Youngjo laughs—gives him a shrug and reaches out for the spoon. He stops it, fingers careful over metal and by Seoho’s—he taps at it a couple times, eyes running along Seoho’s fingers and up his arm.

Seoho feels the back of his neck burn, lets go of the spoon and pulls his hand away—places it against his own cup—half empty and cold (it feels like water on burning metal—sizzling and loud against his skin, calming down feelings and thoughts). He gives Youngjo a little smile—a quiet laugh, picks up the glass and drinks whatever’s left of his fruit juice.

Youngjo picks up the spoon, cuts off half of the cake that’s left, brings it up to his lips—his canines are cute against chocolate, Seoho doesn’t know why he notices that.

(His head’s a little in disarray—he doesn’t feel like thinking about why.)

They go back to silence after that—Seoho’s nerves on end despite how comfortable it all feels. Youngjo’s finally drinking his coffee now, still cutely blowing on it from time to time, tongue lightly licking at the edge of the cup and Youngjo’s top lip.

Seoho taps absentmindedly at his empty glass, finds himself looking around the store and towards a digital clock on the wall—he squints, looks at the time, sees the last number turn from a 4 to a 5.

9:45— Seoho blinks, turns to Youngjo.

“Don’t you have to—don’t you have class, _hyung_?” It slips out from Seoho’s lips easily, and he almost thinks of stopping himself and turning back, apologizing.

But then Youngjo smiles—bright and happy, and Seoho bites his lip to stop himself from laughing, from asking _why_ and turning the air even a little bitter.

He likes it—Seoho likes being here, happy and comfortable with Youngjo. He likes it a lot.

“It’s close-by” Youngjo’s tone is comfortable as he lowers his now-empty cup on the table, hands then tapping against the material. “But I should get going—gotta walk”

His beanie twitches sadly—from one side to the other, then falls down and flattens. Seoho cocks his head to the side, laughs a little.

“Would you… mind if I walked with you?” Seoho’s voice sounds a little nervous—on edge and about to shake as he runs a hand to push his bangs back and off his eyes. “To class, I mean”

“Yeah” Youngjo’s beanie seems to perk up, hands flat against the table and eyes so _bright_. “Like, I’d like that, actually”

“Nice” Seoho pushes his glass towards the centre of the table, moves to stand up. “Might mess around and wait for Woong—” Seoho pauses, waits for Youngjo to stand up—he stacks the plate, cup and glass neatly, then steps sideways and away from the table, signals for Seoho to follow. Seoho does, continue talking. “…he only gets there early on miracle days, though”

“Worth a shot?

Seoho shrugs. “I guess, so yeah”

The entrance bell rings—shrill in his ears, brings forth wind scratching against his eyes—pushes his hair into his eyes.

He reaches up, runs his fingers through his bangs, looks towards Youngjo—cocks his head to the side.

“What colour should I dye it?”

————

When he gets to Keonhee’s small apartment, it’s already close to 10pm, and he’s carrying a bag of hair bleaching and dyeing products that he definitely shouldn’t have spent his paycheck on. One of Keonhee’s roommates, Sunwoo, opens the door when he rings the bell, red hair messy and looking very much like he just ate something _way_ too sour.

Seoho smiles at him, waves. “’Sup?” Sunwoo sighs, motions behind him past the door and lets him in. Seoho steps in, feet light against what he can tell is a recently cleaned carpet.

“Joochan-hyung won’t shut up” Seoho laughs, walks to the small living room of the four-person apartment to put his things down. Sunwoo walks behind him, goes straight to the hallway and to his shared room, stops at the same time Seoho sits down and throws his bag on the couch, right next to him. “Keonhee-hyung’s on the shower” he waves a hand at the hallway, shrugs. “Says you can wait in his room if you want? Hyunjae-hyung won’t mind”

“Oh—” Seoho nods, runs his hands over the strap of his bag. “Think I’ll just wait here” He drops his hand on the couch, tries his best for another smile. “Thanks, tho”

Sunwoo does a dismissive motion, turns to go back to his room again. Seoho leans back on the couch, pulls out his phone, then looks back up. “Tell Joochan hi, if he won’t come out”

“No promises”

And then he’s gone—evident sound of Joochan playing some game _loudly_ coming from the door Sunwoo walks into, followed by what Seoho can only imagine is a kind _please shut up_ followed by a less than kind _please shut the_ fuck _up_ —

Whatever comes next, whether it be Joochan actually shutting up or Sunwoo jumping at his neck with all the love in the world, Seoho doesn’t feel like hearing—so he pulls out his headphones and plugs them in, plays whatever song he last left paused and hums to himself.

He runs a hand through his hair—eyes the KakaoTalk icon and blinks.

He taps on it, goes to his chat with Dongju.

**Seoho:**

| 

so how did operation  
  
---|---  
  
| 

get hwanwoong physically dragged by ur brother go  
  
| 

and hows ur fever  
  
**S. Dongju:**

| 

fever's down now  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

is it  
  
**S. Dongju:**

| 

promise  
  
| 

and hwanwoong’s here  
  
| 

dongmyeong had to bring him home from the studio and i now  
  
| 

owe him food but  
  
| 

necessary sacrifice  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

u gave up food to ur brother….  
  
| 

damn are u whipped  
  
**S. Dongju:**

| 

i’ll end you  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

scary  
  
**S. Dongju:**

| 

don’t test me?  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

okokokok fine fien  
  
| 

take care tho  
  
| 

both of u  
  
**S. Dongju:**

| 

hyung i see u typing and if that’s a sex joke  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

oh sorry keonhees out now  
  
| 

gottago  
  
| 

haha  
  
| 

:)  
  
He promptly ignores whatever messages comes in next from Dongju, instead opens up whatever game app his fingers land on first and pretends he’s _very busy_.

It doesn’t take too long, only a couple of levels and then a frustrating third one that he just can’t clear, before Keonhee comes out. He heads straight for the couch with a loud greeting, and Seoho gives him a _hey_ as he takes off his headphones, followed by a _let me finish this level first wait_ that has Keonhee pouting as he drops on the couch on the other side of Seoho’s bag.

Seconds later, Seoho still can’t win the level—he gives up, turns off his phone screen and drops his phone somewhere on the couch. He turns to Keonhee, pushes his bag towards his lap.

“So” Seoho starts, reaches out to open his bag and rummage through it. Keonhee cocks an eyebrow, hands resting against the bag to push it back towards Seoho, but without any strength behind them.

“Do you wanna take my room, or?” Seoho shakes his head, pulls out a paper bag with and smiles—he hands it over, Keonhee receives it, confused.

“Help me out before that” Keonhee peers at the bag—seems hesitant on opening it. Seoho urges him on, signals with his hands and then pats at the bag a couple of time. “Can’t on my own”

Keonhee squints at him, then at the bag—places it on his lap and reaches inside. He runs a hand over hair bleach powder and developer, and two different coloured tubes of dye— looks up at Seoho.

“Hyung” He holds out one of the dyes, pretty bright pink box seeming like some foreign, unknown object in Keonhee’s hands. “this is gonna take hours?”

Seoho shrugs. “You’re free tomorrow morning” He reaches for the bag, rummages so he can take out plastic gloves from the bottom. “C’mon”

“I’ve been working all day” Keonhee takes the gloves from Seoho even so, then takes a small plastic container once Seoho passes it to him. “I want to sleep”

“Friendship favour?” Seoho fake pouts, takes out a bottle of developer and hands it over. Keonhee squints—until Seoho beaks into a giggle, and Keonhee sighs as he picks out the bleach and reads over the instructions carefully.

“Just last week—get me a spoon or something to mix this, please?” Seoho stands up from the couch, familiar where he moves through the small living room until he finds something to use in one of the drawers of the counter by the entrance. He walks back with easy steps, hands Keonhee a couple of spoons and one lonely stick he found lying around. “Last week— thank you— you made me cry for fun, you don’t deserve my friendship favours”

He tries for serious, but he’s Keonhee, and he’s also saying it while placing everything neatly in a pile to take to the bathroom—so, really, Seoho knows he’s not _really_ mad (plus, Seoho had apologized and gotten him nice food after scaring him, so—Seoho thinks his sins are _cleared_ in Keonhee’s eyes).

They walk over with Keonhee loudly rambling about something or the other, about Joochan getting hooked up on some game that drives Sunwoo up the wall lately, about work that morning, about the stupidly fluffy cat he sees around sometimes—all the while leaving everything neatly over the sink as he brings a chair for Seoho to sit, then pulls out a clean towel from a drawer in the bathroom.

It’s nice, Seoho thinks, eyes on the mirror from the chair—hand going up to his bangs. Keonhee leaves the bathroom, comes back after a second with a hairbrush that might be Hyunjae’s and seems free to sacrifice.

“Hyunjae-hyung says you can have an old t-shirt of his to stain if you want?” Seoho shrugs, lets his jacket hang from the back of the chair—shivers a little bit (Keonhee turns up the heating with a sigh, Seoho gives him a laugh).

“It’ll turn to cotton candy” Keonhee hands him the hairbrush, Seoho runs it through his hair carefully. Keonhee places a few hair clips on the counter, glances at Seoho. “But sure, was ready to sacrifice my own clothes but I’m willing to change victim here”

Keonhee snorts, leaves the bathroom with a quiet _kay_ —comes back with a shirt he shoves at Seoho. “Put that on while I mix this”

Seoho nods, changes quickly—complains about the cold as he waits for Keonhee to finish, leaves his glasses by the sink and blinks.

It’s when Seoho’s scalp is almost _whirring_ from bleach all over it—when Keonhee’s almost done applying it and there’s some dead time until he has to wash it off and get to dyeing it—that Keonhee asks, voice curious and eyes almost worried: “What brought this on, anyway?”

Seoho taps at his thighs, plays with strings of the towel folded up. “Felt like I wanted a change?”

“At 10pm, at my house, on a weekday” Keonhee finishes applying the bleach, covers up the last strand in the mess of scrap aluminium foil and pieces of plastic bags they had found lying around the place. Seoho laughs, touches at his hairline, makes plastic crinkle as he turns a little in the chair to look up at Keonhee.

“Yes?” He rests his arm on the backrest of the chair, watches as Keonhee dumps everything in the sink and takes off the gloves—turns around again to face Keonhee who’s now leaning against the counter.

Keonhee squints at him. Seoho cocks his head with a smile—half a laugh.

“I don’t trust that” Keonhee lets his hand rest on the counter, cocks his own head to the opposite side of Seoho’s. “You could’ve just gone to a hairstylist”

“That costs money” Keonhee laughs at that, pushes away from the counter and turns to the sink, lets the water run—makes a face as he cleans up stuff. Seoho simply waits, watches him—runs a hand by his hairline again.

“So does this—”

“Less money” He interrupts, lowers his hand. “Plus” He lets his hand drop over the tower again, listens to the water run and splash for a second. “Dunno, you’re good at it? You like to do it”

“Why these colours, though?” Keonhee turns off the tap, stops for a second before turning around and drying his hands on the towel Seoho’s still got over his legs.

“They’re nice?” Seoho pushes Keonhee’s hands away, Keonhee lets him, walks over to the other side of the counter to look over the tubes of dye now outside their boxes.

“Again, I don’t trust that, hyung” Seoho throws him an offended glare, looks for his phone in his pocket. He pulls it out, turns on the screen to scroll through whatever notifications left there (there’s only Dongju’s _fucking hell hyung_ from their earlier conversation he is choosing to playfully ignore, and then one short message from Youngjo that makes him choke on a laugh—a simple _show me the colour when you get it!!)_.

(Seoho hates it—hates that it _affects him,_ and he doesn’t know how or _why_.)

“You’re hurting me, Keonhee” Seoho smiles at his screen, then drops his phone face down on the towel without replying to Youngjo, figures he’ll send him a picture later, whenever they’re done with his hair.

Keonhee throws a bag at him, rolls his eyes for the hundredth time—the bag doesn’t reach Seoho, and Seoho looks up at him with a winning smirk that Keonhee ignores. He walks towards Seoho with both tubes of dye in his hands—sits down on the floor in front of him and looking up.

“I know you don’t like talking—” Seoho avoids eye contact, grabs onto his phone a little too tightly. Keonhee leaves the dye on his own lap, places a hand on top of Seoho’s over his phone.

Seoho’s breath hitches—fucking hell.

“But there’s something going on, hyung, I can tell” Seoho lets out a laugh—awkward and high in his throat, evident denial that he hates hates _hates_. “Do you wanna talk?”

 _I know this is some sort of avoidance—_ clear in the way Keonhee’s hand is kind over Seoho’s, in the way his eyes are so _fucking_ sincere and worried and—Seoho chokes, laughs and pulls his hand away to hold onto the side of the chair.

 _I know you need to talk, too—_ and Seoho hates that his friends know him so well, that Keonhee is so open and sincere with him and that he _knows_ and—

Seoho’s grip on the chair tightens, now on both sides—his scalp burns lightly, and Keonhee’s eyes are wide and open in front of him and Seoho just—

He breathes out, in, out again—he lets go of the chair, rests against the back of the chair and looks at the floor—anywhere but at Keonhee.

“I don’t—” Keonhee sits back against the counter, leaves a light pat to Seoho’s knee before moving away. Seoho throws him a smile, eyes looking away still. “there’s nothing to talk about—there’s nothing going on”

“Hyung—"

“There’s _nothing_ , Keonhee” Keonhee frowns, both hands on his sides and against the floor. “Stop asking”

Keonhee looks almost sad—and Seoho feels like he should apologize, his tone too harsh and everything way too tense and _rejecting_ even though Keonhee’s only worried— not only worried, but also right.

He swallows, breathes in the tension in the air and the smell of hair bleach and something wet.

“Fine” Keonhee’s voice is quiet, upset and honest—Seoho winces, lets go of the chair and pushes himself forward a little, forces himself to look at Keonhee—tries to seem sincere as he reaches out a hand for Keonhee to take.

“After—later, I’ll try to make sense of it but” He breathes in, feels a burn he’s not sure is from the bleach anymore “For now just—help me out, yeah?”

Keonhee takes Seoho’s hand in one of his, pushes himself off the floor with the other one—then lets go to walk towards the sink and rub at his eyes—prickle of tears evident but not falling. He checks the time on his phone—alarm still maybe 30 minutes away, sighs.

“I’ll just” Keonhee turns back to Seoho, gives him a sad smile “go to my room? And come back when the alarm rings to wash up and—”

 _God—_ Seoho’s breath hitches again at the same time his phone buzzes with a notification, burns through the cloth of his pants and down to his skin—little needles of feeling and thoughts that make him want to throw up.

“Someone” He blurts out, Keonhee stops on his way past the sink, looks at Seoho—blinks. Seoho swallows, feels his throat raspy and everything _burn_ in something he can’t quite place. “Told me the colours and” He exhales, blinks at the floor and at the mirror in front of him. “I’ve been—urging to dye it, I guess?”

“Why?” Keonhee leans back against the counter, between the mirror and Seoho—and he simply waits, doesn’t urge on further, doesn’t move—eyes a little shiny but overall just _kind._

“I don’t understand things, I guess” Seoho shrugs, sits back down and breaks eye contact—pulls the towel back over his lap, a little messier. “Something’s going on—in my head, I mean” He purses his lips “I don’t get it”

“Your head?” Keonhee steps forward, falls back to sit in front of Seoho on the floor, as close as he can get. Seoho laughs, shy and towards the floor—eyes flicking towards Keonhee a second before focusing on cold tiling below them.

“Feelings, I guess?” He looks sheepish, feels like running from the room at the same time he feels like curling in on himself and just—forget he can feel anything at all.

Keonhee lets out a breath, soft, reaches out and puts his hands over Seoho’s knees gently. “Seoho-hyung”

“It’s okay to feel things, yeah, I know” He pats one of Keonhee’s hands, drops his hand towards the side of the chair and lets it hang. “Woongie said the same thing, but—” He parts his lips, means to continue but doesn’t, instead gives Keonhee another shrug and makes a noise akin to a laugh. “I don’t understand, ‘s all”

Keonhee hums, gives Seoho’s legs a small squeeze, then lowers his hands to the floor in front of his crossed legs. “Do you know what it is?” Seoho shakes his head, huffs out another quiet laugh.

“Maybe?” Keonhee makes a noise, Seoho bites the inside of his slightly, lets go to continue talking. “I think I know but—I don’t get it? What exactly—it could be or why?”

“Feelings don’t have to make sense, you know that” Keonhee’s tone is soft. Seoho’s phone buzzes again, he feels it ring in his ears, against his skin.

A second—Seoho breathes, swallows the silence and the taste of almost _crying_ that he refuses to acknowledge.

“I know”

“Then?”

“…I don’t _know_ ” Seoho sounds frustrated, and Keonhee laughs before standing up— walks until he’s standing behind Seoho—

And then, the alarm starts ringing.

Keonhee gets startled, yells out and earns them an annoyed yell back from Sunwoo’s room. Seoho laughs—feels his shoulders relax and his head spin a little slower, looks up to Keonhee, who’s pouting and has tears at the corners of his eyes.

Seoho smiles at him, reaches out to pat at his face playfully—Keonhee smacks his hand away and whines, loudly, turns off the alarm and wipes at his face.

“Get by the shower” Keonhee’s voice is a little broken as he sniffles, and Seoho laughs and stands up—takes the towel and chair with him. He sets the chair down close enough to the shower area—where the showerhead can reach. Keonhee rubs at his eyes once more, puts the plastic gloves on again and walks over—turns on the shower, checks the temperature is warm enough, looks down at his socks and breathes out.

“If these get wet I’m gonna cry” Seoho snorts, throws his head back.

“You’re already crying?” Keonhee glares at him, points the showerhead to hits Seoho’s face.

Seoho admits he had that one coming.

He laughs, loud—lets Keonhee focus on washing his hair. It’s a pain, he knows, because he has to make sure not to _soak_ both of them completely and also there’s nowhere he can quite lean on and he’s sure Keonhee’s hands are starting to hurt.

He doesn’t complain tho—seems content carefully running his hands through Seoho’s hair, taking out the messy assortment of hairclips, bags and aluminium all over Seoho’s head.

They stay just in silence for a while, Seoho’s eyes closed as he hums—feels warm water and hears Keonhee harmonize with whatever song his brain spits out at the moment.

“Do they make you happy, that someone?” Keonhee’s voice is quiet under the sound of water, as careful as his fingers against Seoho’s scalp, washing away everything from newly blond strands. Seoho blinks his eyes open, looks up at him and lets out a quiet noise of questioning. Keonhee doesn’t say anything else, lets Seoho sink back into the sound of running water again—the sound of breathing and the sound of peaceful silence against his feelings.

Seoho breathes—two exhales and three inhales, then closes his eyes again, image of the ceiling burned into his retinas.

“…He does” Seoho’s voice is almost a whisper. Keonhee’s hands run through his hair once more, kind against the top of his head—and then he turns the water off. Seoho hands him the towel, and Keonhee takes it swiftly, runs it carefully over Seoho’s hair. Keonhee gives him a smile, steps away with his shirt wet and looking almost _proud_.

“Then, for now, just let it be? This whatever you feel” He stands in front of Seoho—Seoho brings his hands up to his hair, finishes running the towel over it and drying excess water. He lowers it, still over his hands, looks towards the mirror off to the side—towards Keonhee.

Seoho smiles and shrugs again—eye smile almost a little sad as he manages eye contact. “Maybe, huh”

Keonhee only gives him a hum—gets to the hair dye before motioning for Seoho to come over. Seoho takes the chair with him, and then they’re back at their initial position—in front of the mirror and with Keonhee standing behind the chair, plastic container with dye in one hand and clean brush in the other.

“You don’t really have to rush it” Keonhee leans down, hands careful around Seoho’s neck as he rests his cheek against the top of his head. Seoho laughs out in a laugh, words lost as he tries to remember how to say things—

He settles on saying nothing—simply raises a hand to pat at Keonhee’s cheek in a silent _thank you_.

————

By the time they’re done, it’s already close to 3am, and Keonhee looks _exhausted_ —their clothes are all a mess and Hyunjae’s loaned shirt is very much dyed in different shades of mint and pink—the bathroom’s wet and there’s condensation all over the mirror, and Seoho’s head feels lighter in a way he _knows_ goes past the urge for some change, past the want to get rid of black hair.

He thanks Keonhee—bids him a kind good night and promises to get him food whenever they both have free time during the day, thanks 9 for the change of clothes he leaves on the couch for Seoho to take.

Before changing, while standing in the mirror and staring at his reflection, he decides to take a picture or two—peace sign up and hair a mess of uneven mint and pink (the mint’s on most of his head, pink being a messy highlight Keonhee had decided to simply _yolo_ into Seoho’s hair when Seoho said he frankly had no idea how he wanted it to look), smile a little awkward as he looks at the camera.

He doesn’t overthink it—takes only one before opening his chat with Youngjo and sending it without much of a caption ( _cotton candy hair >:D)._

The time reads 3:10am when he sends it—turns off his phone screen and goes to change. He feels light, mess of his head quieted down for some time, emotions still in disarray and unable to understand—but, he thinks, maybe he can really just _let it be_.

Can learn not to mind it so much, not for now—can let himself learn to understand.

He turns off the bathroom light, walks over to the couch and quietly falls on it to stare at the ceiling—muses how much of the dye will have stained the pillows by the morning.

————

**Youngjo** **🐾** **:**

| 

it really suits u🔥🔥🔥  
  
---|---  
  
| 

Was thinking of dyeing my hair too  
  
| 

maybe ill follow ur example😈  
  
The messages are from maybe 6am the next morning—and Seoho lets himself smile as he reads them, still awake and head fuzzy, light against couch pillows and hair poking from under the blanket.

**Seoho:**

| 

next i see u u better have it green  
  
---|---  
  
**Youngjo** **🐾** **:**

| 

green?!  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

seaweed  
  
**Youngjo** **🐾** **:**

| 

🤔  
  
| 

maybe  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

lmao  
  
**Youngjo** **🐾** **:**

| 

bet i could pull it off 😘  
  
Seoho drops his phone on the pillow—almost against his face. He lets out a weird squawk, chokes and feels his hands twitch as he grabs his phone back.

He means to reply teasingly—reply normally, but what comes out instead is _well ure always hot anyway so yeah lmao_.

Was it not for the fact that he can’t afford a replacement, Seoho would’ve chucked his phone across the living room right after he hit send on that message—instead, he lets it fall to the floor and runs a hand through his hair.

What the _fuck_ is going on with him— he pulls at his roots, inhales and shuts his eyes tightly for a second.

Lack of sleep is catching up to him—likely, yeah.

He breathes out, lets himself calm down—feels his face and hands burn, blanket over him suddenly way too warm at the same time there’s a shiver running down his spine. He curls in on himself, lets his eyes fall open to stare at his hands—the way his fingers won’t stop shaking and his arms refuse to work and _what the hell why did he even send that holy shit—_

His phone buzzes from the floor—he yelps, half-jumps but stops, refusing the urge to grab his phone at the same time all his nerves stand on end— and he just wants to both talk to Youngjo until sundown and lock himself in Keonhee’s closet until he stops feeling like he just stepped into the sun.

It buzzes again—Seoho lets out a gargled laugh, sits up and lets the blanket fall—reaches for the floor with shaky hands and picks up his phone.

Resting against the back of the couch, he holds his phone in one hand, the other twisting over the blanket. The screen faces up, turned off, and he’s musing if to reply when his phone buzzes _again_ —this time straight against his skin and sending a full-body shiver—pulling another laugh out of him.

He manages to turn the screen back on, blinks as he reads over the last messages before dropping his phone on the couch again—hands on his face and smile stupid even as his head spins and spins and _spins_ around.

**Youngjo** **🐾** **:**

| 

oh  
  
---|---  
  
| 

Oh? 😳  
  
| 

well ure not wrong but haha  
  
| 

unexpceted  
  
| 

unexpected..*  
  
| 

ill make sure to send u pictures then 😈  
  
It takes Seoho an _incredible_ amount of strength to uncurl—lean back on the couch and stare at the ceiling—laughter and breaths mixed in high pitched puffs that burn his eyes and throat.

He manages to grab his phone again—feels fuzzy as he unlocks it, types a reply in the chat with fears and something fluffy that numbs and makes it hard to even stay awake right now.

He finishes typing, drops the phone to the side and falls to the opposite—back to the pillow, hair messy and all over his face and staining pink and mint mint _mint_ that he can taste at the back of his throat.

**Seoho:**

| 

make em sexy  
  
---|---  
  
| 

unless ure a cowaard  
  
He manages to fall asleep before Keonhee leaves for work—he considers it a win, head fuzzy and feelings still spinning and spinning around.

————

“Did he send you pictures, though?” It’s Saturday afternoon now and Seoho’s sitting with Dongmyeong and Hwanwoong, a couple of hours before their dance class later, at some random restaurant they found on the way—plates of food and different cheap meat plates in front of them. It’s Dongmyeong that’s talking, chopsticks resting against the table and eyes on Seoho next to him.

Dongju’s also there, across from his brother and looking absolutely _miserable_ with his head on the table, Hwanwoong’s fingers running through the back of his hair softly.

Finals are next week— Seoho feels Dongju’s pain in his soul, throws him a smile before turning to Dongmyeong and shrugging.

“No. Why do you know so much, though?” Hwanwoong’s fingers on Dongju’s hair fall to lightly tap at his back, and Dongju lets out a snort and raises his head to look at Seoho with eyebags that could rival his own.

“He’s my brother” Seoho nods, turns to look at Hwanwoong—gives him a look that says _this is your fault, then_ —Hwanwoong isn’t even fazed.

“Maybe he just hasn’t dyed it yet” Hwanwoong muses as he pulls Dongju up by his shirt—Dongju whines but sits up anyway. “Or he decided that he’d rather not become seaweed”

“That’d make him a coward” Dongmyeong interjects as he picks up meat, chopsticks moving towards Dongju before he smirks and pulls it back for himself. Dongju scowls, Dongmyeong laughs. “Which, like—no offense, but crushing on a coward would be—”

Seoho stops him by stabbing him on the ribs with his chopsticks—Dongmyeong yells, fakes a pout at him.

Seoho does not feel bad.

He wipes at them with a napkin, looks up just in time to see Hwanwoong pull Dongju close, whisper something that sounds scolding that might be about _not sleeping on restaurant tables_ and _not kicking your brother under the table either—_ even as Hwanwoong brings his chopsticks up to feed Dongju, fingers kind on his hair.

 _God_ , they’re adorable—Seoho wants to gag.

“You guys are so cute” Dongmyeong sounds as enthusiastic as he is ready to poke at his own eye with a chopstick. Seoho can’t blame him. “Wonder how long until Seoho-hyung can end up like th—”

Seoho stabs him with the chopsticks again.

“Never” He wipes at them again, leaves them on the table to grab his drink and drink it _maybe_ a little too quickly. “Never happening”

Dongmyeong frowns, drops his own utensils as well to lean forward on the table, elbow resting on it and face on the hand he has up. “Why not? You like the guy, and he—”

“Because no, he doesn’t—there’s nothing” Seoho taps his fingers on the table, bubbling anxiety bitter in his throat “Nothing’s gonna happen, I’m fine like this”

His eyes are fixed on the table, on his already empty plate—he hears Dongmyeong sigh next to him, hears Hwanwoong in front of him shift and feels what is definitely Dongju’s _shoe_ kick at his shin.

He’s sure he doesn’t deserve that—he throws Dongju a glare, quickly kicks away all doubts and thoughts to reach for his almost empty drink—he tips it sideways, doesn’t pull it up to drink yet.

“We’re cool, friends—and I don’t wanna date” He tips it far enough for it to clink against the plate, and Hwanwoong frowns in front of him when Seoho looks up.

“You can’t—” Hwanwoong’s got one hand on the table, tense and holding Dongju’s a little too tightly. The other’s running through his hair, faded lavender pretty on his skin. He looks—not mad, but something _else_ , maybe worried and just _upset_.

Seoho doesn’t like it—doesn’t like that he’s causing it.

He swallows, straightens the glass back up and leaves it on the table, throws Hwanwoong a smile. “I’m fine, Woongie” He tries for a laugh, feels it a little awkward. “I just—I think he’s cute, that’s it, okay”

Dongju snorts, now sitting up straight— hand he has over Hwanwoong’s more relaxed than his eyes give hint. In front of him, Dongmyeong is looking down, absently poking at food—side eye still on Seoho and lips in a tense line.

Seoho feels watched—feels like everyone is expecting and _waiting_ and he doesn’t like that he can’t figure things out.

He looks away and towards the rest of the inside of the restaurant at the same time Dongju talks.

“Whatever, hyung” Hwanwoong throws Dongju a glance, careful. Dongju gives him a side-smile, serious. “We all know you’re emotionally _constipated_ anyway, take your time”

Seoho drops the glass on the table—quickly picks it up again and turns to look at Dongju as dead in the eye and menacing as he can.

Judging by Dongju’s nonchalant attitude—by the way he immediately goes back to his food and to cuddling against Hwanwoong as best as he can—it doesn’t work at all.

Dongmyeong and Hwanwoong, good friends that they are, do their best to hide laughter of agreement—

Or well, Dongmyeong does—hand over his mouth and face turned to the side.

Hwanwoong just snickers into Dongju’s hair—gets sauce and rice on it and laughs even louder when Dongju complains, pinches at his side and nearly throws them both off their chairs.

Seoho tries to complain out loud, say something—finds he can’t (no one’s listening, his voice won’t come out—and, well, it’s pointless), settles for just whining in a loud noise and stealing food from Hwanwoong’s plate out of sheer _spite_. Hwanwoong only laughs harder when he sees him, half-assedly tries to stop him before simply settling against Dongju and kissing at his face with little whispers Seoho is absolutely _tired_ of and refuses to process—even though he knows Hwanwoong is speaking loud enough for everyone in the table to hear on purpose.

(He’s not tired, really— they’re cute, rude only to tease and bother everyone else—but _god_ were his friends insufferable—even more so as a couple).

Whatever tension’s in the air seems to have broken, and Seoho feels himself relaxing. He munches on Hwanwoong’s stolen food slowly, watches as Hwanwoong’s laughter calms down and he steadies himself and Dongju on the table—then turns to Dongmyeong when he feels a poke at the side of his face.

“Don’t rush it” Dongmyeong lowers his hand, gives him a smile. “We tease you, but just go— do however you feel is best”

Seoho returns the smile—gets sauce on his finger and flicks it at Dongmyeong.

“Thank you”

————

Seoho’s on his way to the building for singing classes (Hwanwoong tagging along to drop him off and look over some paperwork or another from his absence the previous week), when he spots a black cat sitting outside what appears to be a small bookstore—colourful cardboard stuck to the front window hinting at it holding some kind of event for kids.

Seoho eyes the door curiously, eyes the cat as well—tastes clear familiarity in its kind eyes and swishing tail.

Hwanwoong’s the one who walks towards it first, quickly crouching down to hold out his hand. The cat’s ear twitches, tail moving from side to side before its eyes open and it sniffs at Hwanwoong’s hand.

The cat blinks, lowers its head—trusting and about to go back to sleep. Seoho smiles, ruffles Hwanwoong’s hair a little before he steps steps a bit closer, drops down next to Hwanwoong and in front of the cat.

It’s still curled up, but its ears perk up—alert and towards Seoho.

 _Recognition_.

Seoho cocks his head to the side, reaches out a hand alongside Hwanwoong’s (who’s petting at the cat’s head carefully—scratching between its ears, quiet purrs cute and warm against him), pokes the cat on the nose.

Hwanwoong snorts, shoves at Seoho with his shoulder, and Seoho laughs before pulling his hand away.

“Ravn?” He tries. The cat yawns, Hwanwoong pulls his hand away. The cat uncurls, stretches—tail swishing as it sits down and looks up at Seoho.

The cat meows and Seoho, under the light, sees that its fur seems to have a layer of _green_ somehow—one that most definitely wasn’t there before.

He blinks, reaches forward—pets at Ravn’s head a little roughly and feels a laugh bubble up. Hwanwoong next to him cocks his head, seems to squint at the cat and Seoho before he smiles.

“Youngjo-hyung’s cat? You sure?” Seoho nods, reaches forward to pick Ravn up. The cat whines, meows as Seoho leaves its paws in the air a second, but lets him—and then they’re all sitting on the sidewalk and against the wall. with Ravn curled up on Seoho’s legs.

His fur is definitely green—definitely wasn’t before. Seoho’s sure of that.

“His eyes give him away.” Seoho pokes around the cat’s head, plays with his fur with a soft, fond laugh. “Same as his owner’s” Hwanwoong moves, kneels in front of them as he lets out a huff of laughter, smile amused and hands on his lap and the sidewalk (he lets out a quiet _of course you’d know that_ as well, but Seoho chooses to ignore it—ignore the implications for himself, as well).

“Was his fur always, like, green?” Seoho laughs a little harder, feels the cat on his lap tense up slightly.

“He wasn’t green last time, so no, I’m pretty sure not” He rubs at the cat’s fur, lifts Ravn’s face up from the chin. Ravn only whines weakly, meows again—Seoho smiles. “Did Youngjo-hyung dye _your_ hair as well?”

“Would he?” Hwanwoong looks amused. Seoho lets go of the cat’s chin and places his hand against the sidewalk, shrugs, thinks it over a second.

“He would” Seoho nods decidedly and Hwanwoong snorts, goes to pet the cat softly.

It’s a few seconds like that, sitting in silence with a cat on his lap and Hwanwoong petting it in front of him, before the door to the bookstore opens and out comes not a child, but Geonhak—his hair a fluffy blond now, hiding under a cute wool hat, and Seoho wonders if maybe Leedo had also had his fur dyed to match the owner.

He laughs to himself a little loudly at that (and Hwanwoong looks up at him with eyes that say _what the fuck_ as much as he’s used to it)—and Geonhak turns to them, eyes a little too wide and beanie as expressive as Youngjo’s.

Seoho waves at him with a smile, and Hwanwoong gives him a polite, awkward nod. Geonhak just stares at them for a second, posture tense and eyes wide—then he looks at Ravn and points at him with an awkward finger.

“Hi” a pause “That’s my cat” Hwanwoong’s hand twitches at the same time as the cat’s ears, and Seoho can tell he’s trying really hard not to be _rude_ and laugh in Geonhak’s face at— well, at whatever that greeting was supposed to be. Ravn only yawns, rubs a little against Hwanwoong’s hand before cocking its head at Geonhak and blinking.

Seoho pokes Ravn’s nose, eyes looking up at Geonhak. “Yes, your cat” Hwanwoong pulls his hand away, Seoho pushes Ravn off his legs softly, lets him walk off with a tired little meow and lazy steps, then dusts off his pants and stands up. “Was wondering why he got green, actually—no, more than that” Geonhak blinks, seems slightly confused—frozen on the post as he is “did you dye Leedo’s hair too, actually? Because you’re blond now”

Leedo seems a little taken aback now— lost on how to reply. His lips are parted, and Seoho can see that he, like Youngjo, also has canines that feel a little too long and sharp—his hair seems to be standing on end, too, and his eyes are wide open.

It’s cute, reminds him of a buff, scared, menacing-looking cat— Seoho takes a step back with quiet laughter.

“Did I hit the nail?” He gives a smile—a wide one that reaches his eyes. “Did you dye your cats to match?” His voice is lilted with amusement—Geonhak only makes a noise, stays frozen one more second before he seems to force himself to relax and brings his hands to pull his hat down slightly—cover more hair— and closes his mouth.

“Not… really—” He breathes in, seems to be looking for words “Or, well, kinda?” Hwanwoong stands up behind Seoho, still very much holding in laughter and maybe one hundred questions— seems to check his phone for a second. Seoho turns to him, a glance as Hwanwoong turns off his screen, then goes back to look at Geonhak.

“Kinda?” Geonhak nods, shrugs when Seoho’s head tilts a little more to the side. Ravn meows, and Geonhak then down as the cat rubs against his leg. He lets Ravn climb up his leg even as he voices quiet complaints—picks up the cat the rest of the way so that he’s resting against his chest and held in his arms. Seoho smiles at them, reaches out to pat between Ravn’s ears again.

“Is Leedo yellow now, then?” Ravn does something like a sneeze—maybe a cat’s equivalent of human laughter, and Geonhak seems to be resisting the urge to dump it on the floor.

“Yeah—he’s” Geonhak’s voice is low, quiet and maybe even _nervous_ —his eyes flick to the side, as does his hat—Seoho finds it interesting, maybe even _endearing_ “kinda blond now”

“Can I see him?” Seoho steps a little closer, Geonhak twitches—hat and legs tense. “Sounds cute” Geonhak looks away, off to the side—keeps his eyes there and holds Ravn closer.

“Can I— can we have… introductions first?”

Seoho cocks his head to the side— goes quiet and spends a second trying to figure out what Geonhak means.

His thoughts turn—one, two, _three_ seconds— and then he bursts out laughing, puzzles Hwanwoong and Geonhak alike and startles Ravn.

“I—” Seoho stops, breathes in—lets out another bout of laughter “I forgot we hadn’t, like, introduced ourselves yet” The last word breaks into snickering again, and Geonhak only mumbles out a _yeah_ —lets out the _tiniest_ awkward laugh that makes Seoho run a hand through minty-pink locks and laugh for just a little longer.

When he manages to stop laughing, Seoho waves one hand in front of him, gives Geonhak the best smile he can through his awkwardness. “I’m Seoho” He gives a little bow, holds out a hand—lets it hover in the air. Geonhak nods at him—takes a second before kind of shaking their hands together for a second in greeting— then flicks his eyes over at Hwanwoong and lets go. Seoho straightens up, follows Geonhak’s eyes curiously—stops at Hwanwoong and reaches a hand to pull him in closer. “My roommate—you did see him, right? Hwanwoong” He holds Hwanwoong by the shoulders—like showing off someone precious and to be protected, Hwanwoong laughs, places a hand over one of Seoho’s with a weird sigh before looking up at Geonhak. Hwanwoong greets with a gesture, a tiny bow and a nod of his head and Geonhak returns it a little stiffly.

Half a second— silence. Hwanwoong steps behind Seoho again, hands tapping at his phone in his pocket and eyes curious on Ravn.

“Geonhak” Geonhak’s voice is still a little too nervous as fixes Ravn in his arms—then seems to glare at the cat when it digs its claws against Geonhak’s chest, oddly relaxing him before he talks again. “Youngjo-hyung’s my roommate” His head tilts to the side slightly—and then he half-blinks, pets Ravn absent-mindedly, seems to think more words over. “I work here, also” He signals at the bookstore, sheepish, and Seoho nods, a little surprised— face in an expression of wonder.

“How come I hadn’t seen you before?” Seoho sounds a little too excited— a little too loud as well. Geonhak blinks quickly, hair twitching under where it’s covered and Ravn purring in his arms. Seoho squints, rests on his heels a second before standing properly again. “I always walk by here? I have classes close-by, so”

Geonhak scrunches up his nose, gives a tiny shrug—makes eyes contact for a second before looking away again. “Guess we just… never came across each other?”

“Now, though—” Seoho smiles, lets his hands fall into his pockets. Hwanwoong sighs behind him, but Seoho doesn’t pay him any mind. “I can come by before class”

“Don’t—please try not to be a nuisance” Geonhak looks back at him, then, eyes in a slight squint and nose a little scrunched up. Seoho shrugs, playful, then watches as Ravn paws at Geonhak’s face and meows. Geonhak frowns down at it, fixes him better over one arm to bring a hand up to flick at Ravn’s face with a quiet _what_.

Behind Seoho, Hwanwoong turns off his phone screen, pushes at Seoho’s shoulder as he stops next to him and talks. “Impossible—” Seoho turns to him with a mock-offended gasp. Hwanwoong throws him a tired, playful look. “his life is being a nuisance” Seoho drops trying to glare—laughs instead, goes to poke Hwanwoong hard on the side. Hwanwoong quickly moves away, uses his hands as a shield to stop him and smirks. “It’s his hobby” Seoho huffs out, pulls one hand away before trying again—Hwanwoong still stops his, jumps back and away from his slightly with a smile.

Geonhak only watches, hair seeming to follow their movements and twitching here and here.

With his hands still held up to stop Seoho, Hwanwoong turns to face Geonhak properly. He gives a smile, a little less awkward. “Nice to meet you, also—sorry we’re all, like” He drops his hands—Seoho gives up on attacking only because he’s being cute. “awkward”

Geonhak shrugs. “No—don’t worry. Um—same, so”

Hwanwoong smiles at him still, bright, then turns back to Seoho—grabs his hands to stop him from attacking again when he sees Seoho seems to be _preparing_. “You got class soon, hyung”

Seoho stops struggling to land a blow— lets out a little _ah_ before he pulls out his phone to check the time—it’s 6:50pm, he still needs to walk some more before he can make it to class at seven, should get there a little early to make better use of the full time. He frowns slightly, still staring at his phone screen. “Shit”

Geonhak holds Ravn in both hands again—seems to be watching their interactions and trying to figure out _when_ to talk or even move.

“You can... get going. Sorry Yo—” Geonhak bites his lip, tries again after cutting himself off “sorry my cat held you up” Hwanwoong shakes his head, Seoho puts out his phone with a wave of his hand and smiles with a _nah._

“It’s fine, no worries” Hwanwoong talks, reaches out to stroke at Ravn’s fur once more. “really gotta run now, though” He pulls away, seems a little sad to let the cat go before the turns to Seoho and pulls at his arm “hyung, c’mon” Seoho pats Hwanwoong’s arm with a _yes_ yes—then waves at Geonhak, makes sure to pat Ravn when he steps a little closer.

“Looking forward to seeing you around more often?” Seoho smiles, pats at Geonhak’s shoulder before he walks away another step—following Hwanwoong. Geonhak turns a little to look at him, gives him a nod and a mumbled _sure._

Seoho laughs a little, happy, takes a few steps—then stops with a loud _ah_ , turns back to see Geonhak stop on his way back inside the store. “Tell Youngjo-hyung” He yells a little too loud, Hwanwoong pulling at his arm a little bit stronger. Seoho swats at him, looks at Geonhak again. “to not run away from sending me his green hair! I’m still waiting!”

Geonhak laughs at that—less awkward and more _free_ and whole-heartedly amused. In his arms Ravn seems to curl in against Geonhak further, claws digging in against his skin a little bit harder.

Seoho laughs too, then turns back around to poke at Hwanwoong’s face—Hwanwoong only sighs, lets go of his arm but still urges him to walk a little faster, voice a mumble even as it scolds.

And then, with quick steps, they’re lost to the quiet of the evening again. 

————

On the bus home, now on his own, Seoho picks up his phone—mind sleepy as he looks at his chat with Youngjo.

He sent a message at about 8:30pm, on his class break—he didn’t get a reply then, but he felt his phone buzz a few times between then and now, managed to se Youngjo’s name in his notification centre in a second of lost focus.

It’s a little past 10pm now, and he’s finally free—so he taps at the screen, opens up the chat.

**Seoho:**

| 

cant bleive u dyed ur hari and didnt sned me pics?  
  
---|---  
  
| 

betrayed and upste  
  
**Youngjo** **🐾:**

| 

how did u know ????!!!  
  
| 

i thought i was being sneaky ☹  
  
| 

i was gonna send pics but  
  
| 

theyre not coming out well? hahaha  
  
Between those messages and the next one there’s about a 30-minute break—and then the next message is a picture.

A selfie—one of Youngjo taken at a front-high angle. He has a hand against one of his cheeks, softly leaning on it. He’s wearing a beanie, like always, and underneath it he can see tufts of dark green wavy hair peeking out. His eyes are smiling, soft—and he has his lips parted, fangs visible behind them.

Seoho nearly chokes—has to make _way_ too much effort to not make a noise while sitting in the bus.

**Youngjo** **🐾:**

| 

[image]  
  
---|---  
  
| 

see? haha  
  
| 

cant really see it well  
  
Seoho does his best to _breathe_ —calm down, fingers a little shaky and giddy with _something_ as he looks over the picture. He chooses to focus on the beanie—this time it’s a dark blue, looks pretty against the little of Youngjo’s hair he can see, contrast somehow making him look even _softer_ —

The shade of green is lighter than Ravn’s, he notices, but he guesses that’s because dyeing a cat’s hair is more than a little hard.

He actually wonders _how_ Youngjo and Geonhak even managed to dye their cats’ hair—wonders if that’s even safe.

He taps away from the picture, breathes in and out, then types.

**Seoho** **:**

| 

well hyung  
  
---|---  
  
| 

might just have to do with the facg htat ure wearing a beanie  
  
| 

just Maybe  
  
**Youngjo** **🐾:**

| 

haha maybe  
  
**Seoho** **:**

| 

id ont get to see it then  
  
| 

:c  
  
**Youngjo** **🐾:**

| 

theres some!! u can see some!!  
  
**Seoho** **:**

| 

shakes head solemnty  
  
| 

not neough  
  
**Youngjo** **🐾:**

| 

how Did u know tho?  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

o  
  
| 

saw ur cat  
  
| 

ravn  
  
| 

he was green so i was like lmao did he dye his hair to match  
  
| 

and then saw ur roommate like right outside his job  
  
**Youngjo** **🐾:**

| 

wait huh  
  
| 

u could see ravn was green??????  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

yes?????  
  
| 

did u dye his hair thinking no one will see  
  
| 

its def like  
  
| 

green  
  
| 

not seaweed like u tho  
  
**Youngjo** **🐾:**

| 

hahahaha i just didnt think itd be that noticeable??  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

anywya so  
  
| 

hes blond right ur rommate  
  
| 

so i asked like heyddi you dye leedo to mathc  
  
| 

nd he said yea hkinda  
  
| 

well guess i just assugmed afer I saw th etwo of em  
  
| 

but  
  
| 

i ws right  
  
| 

hehehehehehehehehehe  
  
**Youngjo** **🐾:**

| 

i guess u were haha walked into that one  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

yes  
  
| 

how did u even dye ur cats fur tho  
  
| 

is that even safe  
  
| 

u boht matching with ur cats too…  
  
| 

hwhat kind of cat dads…  
  
| 

Also show me >:c  
  
| 

take a pic with ravn wnna see ur family  
  
**Youngjo** **🐾:**

| 

hahahahaha  
  
| 

come over then  
  
| 

i can show u  
  
| 

hehe 😉  
  
This time, he actually chokes—lets out a noise that earns him a concerned look from whoever is sitting close-by. He lowers his mask slightly, coughs into his hand and throws everyone around him a small smile.

That… had caught him off guard—and his miles is going a million kilometres a second trying to figure out if there’s implications and what the hell anything even _means_ and—

His hands type before his brain fully processes—Seoho doesn’t even try to stop himself, figures whatever he types now will be better than something he types after thinking too much.

**Seoho:**

| 

damn  
  
---|---  
  
| 

bold move  
  
| 

and here i thought u were dating ur roommate  
  
**Youngjo** **🐾:**

| 

oh my god no  
  
| 

were just close ive known him since forever  
  
| 

oh my god  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

Heheheheheheheheh just kidding  
  
**Youngjo** **🐾:**

| 

hes not mytype  
  
| 

ah  
  
| 

hey ☹  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

hehehe  
  
| 

sorrysorry  
  
| 

but ah,,, whats ur type then  
  
**Youngjo** **🐾:**

| 

hmm  
  
| 

you?  
  
| 

😈  
  
_What the fuck?_

Seoho’s phone slips off his hands, falls on his lap, then to the floor between his knees—it hits with a loud noise, and Seoho quickly scrambles to pick it up. Once it’s safe in his hands, he curls up on his seat—forehead against his hands over his knees.

He’s _dense_ —he knows he’s dense, he knows he’s not _particularly_ _good_ at the feelings thing and he knows that things fly over his head left and right but _this?_ Not even _he_ is dense enough to not think that maybe—just _maybe_ Youngjo’s hitting on him.

There’s a sliver of doubt, and he doesn’t want to _assume_ but—god.

He breathes—in and out—repeats the cycles a few times until his phone screen is off and the world is ringing in his ears.

“What the _fuck?_ ” His breath is warm against his hands—as warm as his whole face and body feels, everything just _burning_ and starting to feel fuzzy fuzzy _fuzzy_ —

The bus halts to a stop—Seoho quickly gets back up, eyes scanning out the window to see if it’s his stop yet or not—

It is, and it takes him the bus there for almost a full _second_ for Seoho to process it—and then he’s quickly standing up, steps and everything unsteady. He runs out of the bus with a spoken out _thank you_ , steps carefully into the pavement of the bus stop and breathes.

The air’s _cold_ but he feels stupidly warm—his phone in his hand almost feels like its burning and he can barely stand because he’s just—shaking.

Shaking and unsure and his feelings are thoughts are all over the place.

The stop is empty, so he lets himself drop down, sit on one of the benches and stare at the blackened screen of his phone.

He thinks about calling Hwanwoong—maybe even Dongju. Thinks about going to Keonhee’s and screaming until things make sense, thinks about ignoring and _forgetting_ and pretending he never even existed in the first place and—

His phone buzzes in his hands, he yelps, unfocused eyes suddenly sharp _sharp_ on the screen as it lights up.

He expects it to be from Youngjo, but it’s not—it’s from Hwanwoong, a quick series of messages asking if he’s eaten anything yet, if he’s close to getting home—telling him there’s food in the microwave and that Dongju’s sleeping over.

Seoho blinks at it—lets out a shaky breath and opens the chat, quickly types a messy reply ( _im at the busstospt_ and _iahvent eatentyet thankyouu_ and _pleasedont make out onym edb_ ) because his fingers suddenly feel _frozen_ and just won’t _move_ like he wants them to.

He taps out of the chat with Hwanwoong—stares at the last message on the one with Youngjo.

 _What the hell is he even_ supposed _to say?_

**Seoho:**

| 

ahahaah  
  
---|---  
  
| 

swoonin  
  
| 

anyway well when do i get otgoveernnerh  
  
| 

go ove rhtne  
  
| 

n  
  
**Youngjo** **🐾:**

| 

ah!!! u really wanna come over???  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

yea  
  
| 

so when  
  
**Youngjo** **🐾:**

| 

when do u have time?  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

well tomorrow  
  
| 

afternoon  
  
| 

or evening? wont be awake in the morning thats def out  
  
**Youngjo** **🐾:**

| 

tomorrow im busy 😖  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

on a Sunday?  
  
| 

damn dude  
  
**Youngjo** **🐾:**

| 

gonn help out a friend with something haha  
  
| 

during the week?  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

damn.,..  
  
| 

teusday afternoon? no dance this week  
  
| 

gotfree time  
  
| 

finals are coming upbut this week probs not that bad so  
  
**Youngjo** **🐾:**

| 

good luck on finals!!  
  
| 

is at like midday ok?  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

ye  
  
**Youngjo** **🐾:**

| 

ill send my address in a bit then🔥🔥🔥  
  
| 

see u then🥰  
  
It’s a wonder Seoho can even make it home without falling over—smile way too nervous and excited and limbs numbing and everything way too _warm_ for the time of the year.

————

Monday night finds Seoho sitting at home after class, Dongju settled comfortably against his side as he scrolls through social media and spams the hell out of Hwanwoong’s phone for attention he knows he’s gotta get eventually. Hwanwoong’s at dance practice—pushing himself a little harder but promising Dongju to not overdo it, solo performance at some small show to be held the next week.

Dongju knows it’s something big for Hwanwoong, so he lets him—but he’s also sulking, hence why he’s _still_ taking over Seoho and Hwanwoong’s apartment and is now clinging to Seoho while trying to get a reply from his boyfriend.

It’s cute, yeah, but Seoho’s brain isn’t even properly in place to act grossed out—too focused on the fact that oh _yeah_ , he agreed to go over to Youngjo’s house the next day and he’s _still_ musing over Youngjo saying Seoho’s his type and he’s _still_ thinking about how it could be a joke, could’ve been a hypothetical, could’ve been—

“Do you think he was being serious?” He blurts out, and Dongju looks up at him from where he’s nestled comfortably to give him a questioning look. Seoho move the arm he doesn’t have crushed under Dongju—waves it around to try and express as he speaks. “Youngjo-hyung, like—”

“What did he say?” Seoho makes a strangled noise, lets his arm drop—throws his head back and stares at the ceiling, as if that’s gonna give him any answers or easy at words.

“That I was his type”

There’s silence for a beat—and then Dongju sits up abruptly, tired attitude from before completely gone as he pulls Seoho’s arm, eyes wide.

“He said what?” His voice is a little too loud, and Seoho wrinkles his nose at that—smacks at Dongju half-heartedly.

“That, like, his type was me, but” Dongju makes a noise, pulls on Seoho’s arm again. “But I’ve just been thinking, you know, he could’ve been joking? Saying it teasingly like _haha_ , yeah?”

Dongju sighs at that, drops to the backrest of the couch at the same time Seoho lifts his head up to look at him properly—one of Dongju’s arms comes to his face, flat over his forehead as he presses down and closes his eyes.

Seoho waits, feels almost nervous—feels a quiet laugh leave his lips.

“Hyung” Seoho’s laughter chokes up and he looks down—at some random stain they never managed to get out of the couch. Dongju opens his eyes again, sits up properly to look at Seoho. “There’s no way that wasn’t flirting”

“It could’ve been a joke, though—like, I asked his type and—” Seoho runs a hand through his hair, pulls at the roots as he talks—lets go when it starts to sting. “And—that’s a perfect opportunity to do that, right? So—”

Dongju sighs out, again, this time loud and frustrated. He reaches out for Seoho’s arms, holds them up between the two of them as a way to force Seoho to make eye contact for _once_. “Even then, you can make _many_ jokes with that question.” He lets go, Seoho doesn’t move—lets out a strangled and high-pitched noise that Dongju simply smiles at. “That was definitely flirting”

Seoho’s not sure why that hits so _hard_ , but it does, makes him almost want to cry and makes his whole face burn warm enough he covers it with both hands even over his glasses.

“Was it?” His voice sounds choked—nervous and _tiny_ , Dongju hums a _yeah_ , brings a hand up to pat at Seoho’s hair the way he’s seen Hwanwoong do sometimes before.

“Yeah” Dongju’s voice is soft, and Seoho groans. “I know you said—you said you don’t want anything, but—”

“I don’t—I don’t know” Seoho lowers his hand, gaze still somewhere on the sofa before he blinks, looks up at Dongju with a smile that’s almost painful. “I don’t know what I want, I think”

“To be happy?” Dongju’s hands are soft over Seoho’s, touch grounding and somehow _freezing—_ everything to Seoho feels freezing, buzzing, feels far away and like the dead of winter.

He breathes out, body tense. “Will this really make me happy, though?”

He hates how weak his voice sounds—how unsure he is at feeling, letting himself feel—how unsure he is of putting names and actions into motion—how everything just—

“You don’t have to make out with him tomorrow, hyung” Seoho chokes a little, jumps back slightly and locks eyes with Dongju.

“Don’t be _crude_ ” He scoffs, eyes that were getting almost watery still stinging but calmer. Dongju snickers, drops on his side so his head is leaning on Seoho’s shoulder and he’s resting all over his side again.

“Take your time, Dongmyeong said the same, right?” Seoho’s still tense, his hands gripping at his pants and the material of the couch tightly.

He knows—he knows it’s okay to take his time, it’s okay to figure things out slowly—he knows this, and yet—

“I’m trying” A whisper, and he leans back again, a little to the side, head bumping against Dongju’s. “Dunno—not used to this”

“Even you can figure things out, hyung” Dongju’s tone is teasing—playful but kind. He lifts a hand to pat at Seoho’s hair again, touch warm and soft against mint and pink locks.

Seoho laughs a little at that, reaches up to grab at Dongju’s hand and lower it. “Thanks for _that_ , I guess”

“Anytime” Dongju’s tone is sing-song, satisfied. Seoho sighs— soft against Dongju’s hair, taps at his phone next to him on the couch.

He’ll figure it out, somehow.

————

Tuesday afternoon hits, and Seoho find himself checking the address he’s carefully saved on his phone on the map a good ten times before he stops pacing and finally stops in front of the building—number clear in a small plaque in front. He has his usual bag slung over his shoulder, a little heavy with Youngjo’s food containers they both seem to keep forgetting Seoho has had in his kitchen for over a week now.

The building isn’t too tall—doesn’t have many floors and looks to be a little on the older side, not modern and monochrome like the entrance to Seoho’s own. There are stairways on the outside, leading up into the different apartments, and Seoho’s both glad and mortified that he doesn’t have to ring a bell to have a receptionist greet and guide him to the correct place.

He breathes in, looks through stairways until he can find the right one and walk towards it—walk upwards until he reaches the hallway of the second floor. He scans around, spots the number of Youngjo’s door—checks his phone once more to be sure before stepping closer and ringing the intercom bell.

He waits a few seconds, fumbles with his phone in his hands, is considering sending another message to Youngjo (the last one he sent had been before he left home—a quick _on my way btw_ that Youngjo answered with an excited _ok!!!_ _😈_ _)_ when there’s a reply, voice muffled thru the intercom.

Seoho jumps a little, has to grip his phone tighter to not drop it on the floor.

“Hello?” It’s Youngjo, sounding as usual—energetic and maybe even a little expectant.

At the very least, it calms Seoho’s nerves a little to know Youngjo might be at least a _little_ anxious, even though he always seems so sure.

He breathes in, out—feels his breath warm under the face mask he’s wearing. “Hey, it’s Seoho?”

He hears a quiet _oh—_ hears rustling of clothes and something clinking. “Give me a second” and then the intercom goes quiet with the _click_ of it being set down. Seoho hums, leans on foot and then the other—holds his phone in one hand, feels around it impatiently before he shoves it in his pocket.

A second—and then the door opens, and Youngjo’s there, green hair messy and peeking from a rainhat he had definitely put on in a haste. He’s smiling, like always, and Seoho almost feels the breath get knocked out of him.

Youngjo looks cute—effortlessly cute, Seoho’s heart does a leap.

(He doesn’t like it—he doesn’t like feeling it, de doesn’t want to feel it, he doesn’t want to _want_ to feel it.)

Hands in his pockets, he gives Youngjo a shrug as greeting before he speaks with a smile. “Hey”

“Hey” Youngjo opens the door wider and steps back—invitation, and Seoho follows him into the small apartment, dusts off the thing layer of snow from his clothes and leaves his shoes as neatly as he can in awkward politeness. He sees Geonhak when walking by the small kitchenette, on the way to the bedroom, and greets him with a wave of his hand and a light laugh—Geonhak greets him back with a wave, awkward, and goes back to chugging water like his life depends on it.

“He’s about to go out” Youngjo talks easily as he opens the door, gestures for Seoho to come in. “Sorry about that”

“It’s okay” Seoho steps into the room, eyes around it curiously—it’s obvious there’s two people living there, there’s two beds and two desks, but the whole place’s aesthetic is so unified it might as well belong to only one person.

It really just feels like _Youngjo,_ a few things here and there in the walls and counters tasting maybe like Geonhak.

One bed is evidently messier—bedsheets and clothes strewn all around it a little bit flashier, Seoho guesses that one’s Youngjo’s.

Oddly enough, he doesn’t spot anything for their cats—didn’t spot anything in the living room either, be it plates or toys or even beds.

He wonders if he missed it, or if maybe the cats are just feral and live outside—only show up when they please and this don’t have a bed or plate.

He’s about to ask when Youngjo waves a hand in front of him, the other awkwardly held between them—as if he was about to reach out and _hold_ , but had decided not to.

Seoho’s not sure if he likes that—if he wants Youngjo to maybe get a little closer or—

He chokes a little, lets out a tiny cough under his mask with a hand up—then straightens up and takes off the mask.

“Swallowed wrong” Youngjo’s worried stare turns a little amused, and he swats at Seoho’s hand before gesturing behind him.

“Make yourself comfortable? It’s all a mess, but—” Seoho shrugs, walks in, eyes still curious around the room—finally land back on Youngjo as he flops down on the bed he assumes is Youngjo’s (the flashy one, with the nice jean and maybe even _leather_ jackets and colourful shirts in a pile in the chair closest to it and some random pens and papers on the floor).

“Don’t even worry” He sits up properly, legs swinging against the floor. Youngjo walks from the door, eyes his chair a second before frowning and dropping down to sit on the bed next to Seoho, as far away as he can get while being comfortable. “I live with Hwanwoong—hell, the only reason our place is decent is that Dongju comes by so much”

“He makes you clean” Youngjo crosses his legs over the bed, Seoho leaves his stretched out in front of him and against the floor, hands behind him to hold him up properly.

“Yeah—even though he’s _also_ messy, so it’s really _his_ mess as well” He tries moving a little to face his side, legs half on the bed now. Youngjo smiles, hand approaching him carefully before he pats at his thigh.

“You can just—put your legs up, if you want” Seoho blinks, makes a quiet happy noise before he pushes himself back completely against the wall behind the bed, legs crossed and body facing Youngjo slightly—enough to see him well but still have his back against the wall. Youngjo simply watches him—stupidly fond and just _happy_ and Seoho doesn’t know _why_ that makes him feel so much, why he just—

He swallows—oh.

He wants—he wants Youngjo to keep looking at him like that.

“Where’s—“ He breaks his own thoughts, leans forward slightly while looking anywhere but at Youngjo’s face—excuses himself in looking for the cats, in the question he’s had on his head since stepping in but that has long since stopped being his main focus. “Ravn? Or Leedo? Didn’t see their plates or anything”

Youngjo tenses at that, lips parted—runs his tongue over his front teeth, hat tense and hair ruffled up. Seoho blinks at him, fingers tapping on the bed and waiting.

“That—uh” Youngjo’s hat twitches, left to right, before it flattens down. “That’s why I—like” He stops, runs a hand up to his head—over his hat, then grabs at the side of it. He has a small smile on his face, nervous and hands a little shaky—he breathes in, tries for eye contact and manages to catch Seoho before he looks away.

“I asked you to come over, yeah?” Seoho nods—tries to break eye contact to not lose his breath and just end up collapsing where he’s sitting—but he can’t, can’t look away because Youngjo looks so _worried_ and almost _vulnerable_ and—

And there’s something else there—tastes like trust and fear and confusion all in a mess that crawls up his throat and dries his mouth.

“You did” Youngjo nods, pulls at his hat a little, other hand on the bedsheets—he’s gripping them tightly, green eyes so _vivid_ and wide as he looks at Seoho and just _breathes_ for some time.

“So—about my cats and, well, my hair—you know” Youngjo swallows, lets go of his hat a second to tap at the front of it with a laugh. “It’s kinda—it’s kinda funny, okay”

Seoho squints, blinks and opens his eyes as much as he can again—he feels himself as nervous as Youngjo seems to be, feels sweat at the back of his neck and the palm of his hands. His hands are on his lap, fingers playing and twisting together absent-mindedly as his brain screams a thousand things and Youngjo’s eyes bore into his.

Youngjo breathes—Seoho’s expectant, doesn’t know what for.

“I was gonna just explain—but it won’t really make sense? So, um—just look, okay?” Seoho nods, leans away from the wall to sit up and face Youngjo completely— whole body towards him and hands to his sides against the mattress so he can look more closely.

Youngjo takes a second—then pulls his hat off his head and drops it on the bed.

His hair’s green—as expected, of course, colour pretty against his skin—

His hair’s also fluffy, waves here and there turning it into a complete mess that sticks up and towards all sides—

The colour’s more vibrant than just seeing tufts from under Youngjo’s beanie let Seoho guess—forest green or whatever the hell fancy name people wanted to give it, and it fades to looking more black towards his roots—all messy and swirling in each and every direction.

And then—there’s ears.

Cat ears, specifically.

Fluffy—standing alert against the hair and a little twitchy, fur black towards the top and green towards the bottom, where there’s more of it. There’s a couple of piercings delicately placed towards the tips and off to the side—one side’s a small rose and a simple hoop, the other’s a hanging cross and a little moon. The fur seems neatly trimmed and taken care of, shorter than the rest of Youngjo’s hair and just as vivid in shine and colour.

Seoho blinks—the ears, the fluffy hair, it oddly reminds him of—

“Ravn…?” One of Seoho’s hands moves forward—stops in front of Youngjo’s hair, unsure. The cat ears twitch, left to right, point towards Seoho’s hand a little.

Youngjo laughs, nervous—seems to be gripping his hat against the bed tighter when he speaks, voice a little shaky—anxious. “Surprise?”

“You’re… the cat?” Youngjo nods, and, in the blink of an eye, Seoho swears he can see a black tail swishing from side to side behind Youngjo’s shoulder—sees the way his ears flatten against his hair and his eyes waver in their fake confidence. “Can I, like, pet you?”

Youngjo’s ears stand again at that, alert as his eyes widen and look around the room at anywhere but Seoho—and then they settle on Seoho’s hand, curious and maybe even _confused_.

“You want to—you want to pet…?” Seoho nods, lowers his hand to his legs and tries to seem as sure as he can and not like he’s absolutely dying because _holy shit_ he has a crush _holy shit_ his crush is a cat _holy shit_ why isn’t he _questioning anything going on and why does everything make sense to him right now._

It shouldn’t make sense—but the world is weird, and links here and there seem to just _fit_ —the box on his window, the same black eyes, every meeting and every moment—

It just—it just makes sense.

Seoho’s a man of science, yeah, but he’s not going to question the magic right now.

Something in him doesn’t want to.

“Why?”

“Because—” Seoho cocks his head to the side, one eyebrow raised, gives Youngjo a smile “I wanna know if they’re soft?”

“You’re not—Confused, or…?” Youngjo leans forward slightly, reaches out for Seoho’s hand—and Seoho lets him, lets his hand be held and pulled upwards until it’s by Youngjo’s ears again.

And there it stops—and Seoho breathes, keeps his hand there even when Youngjo’s not pulling anymore—and Youngjo’s hands stay there, too, tense and soft and _shaking_ and—

“No” Seoho moves his hand forward—a centimetre or less, Youngjo’s ears tense and twitch, whole body alert as his eyes fly to his fingers, hand—focused and wide and as trusting as they are careful—

“I don’t think I should…question the magic?” Seoho tries—tries to explain the question that confuses him, too—he’s curious, always has been, but more than explanations and logic right now he just—

He just wants to feel—feel Youngjo.

Feel him, whatever that means—whatever Seoho’s brain decides that means.

Maybe feeling is part of his curiosity.

Youngjo blinks at him, leans _just_ a little closer—until Seoho’s fingers are almost against his hair and Seoho can feel the ghost of it against his skin.

Youngjo lets go, face turning a little red as he looks down—fixes his eyes on the mess of blankets underneath them and gives Seoho a nod.

“Okay” Youngjo breathes in, Seoho breathes out in synch—he drops his hand down a little more, stops when Youngjo’s breath hitches.

Seoho waits—a breath or two, in synch and as light as they are heavy with _something_.

“You can—you can pet me, yeah” Youngjo’s voice breaks a little at the _me,_ shy and almost like he wants to hide.

Seoho beams at him, laughs out an _okay then_ as he lowers his hand the rest of the way and touches Youngjo’s hair—

It’s soft, as soft as it looks and almost bouncy with how fluffy it is—he brings his hand up to one of Youngjo’s ears, watches with curious eyes as it twitches against his hand— tickles his palm.

“Does this” He pokes at the inside of it—laughs a little when Youngjo’s ear twitches again against him. “bother you?” He pokes again, for good measure, feels his fingers tickle with little tufts of black hair that brush against his skin.

Youngjo takes a moment—seemingly tries to get himself together enough again to talk, face red and eyes avoidant. “Not really, no”

Seoho hums, lowers his hand to the base of his ears now—stops for a second before carefully petting by the base of them, head tilted a little to the side. Seoho’s eyes flick over to Youngjo’s face, and he nearly pulls on his hair _hard_ when he’s met with Youngjo’s stupidly adoring eyes staring right at him like there’s nothing else he’d rather be looking at.

God—he flattens his palm against the top of Youngjo’s head, watches as Youngjo closes his eyes and happily leans towards his touch— _god_ , this is bad for his head.

Bad for his head, his heart—bad for feelings that are in overdrive and he still can’t properly put down in words because _like_ doesn’t feel like it should be something he _feels_ and—and a _crush_ , and _liking_ and things like that are not—

Seoho’s hand moves—now to the back of Youngjo’s head, and Youngjo lets him—hums happily as Seoho plays with his hair and scratches at his head softly.

They stay like that a while—awkwardly sitting in front of each other, with Seoho’s hand soft on Youngjo’s hair and ears, careful through tangles and curls that go in every which way—with Youngjo humming, almost _purring_ quietly in his chest as Seoho pets him with—

With so much _affection_ and care Seoho doesn’t know what to do with himself.

When he moves his hand away, Youngjo blinks his eyes open—pupils wide and posture relaxed, happy. Seoho feels his hand twitch—wants to put his hand back and stroke Youngjo’s hair again.

But he doesn’t—instead pulls it away, flicks at the side of Youngjo’s ears with a laugh and drops his hand on the bed. 

“Oh” Seoho breathes out, grips at the mattress maybe a little too strongly—doesn’t look at Youngjo or ay anything at all while his head spins. “Was that—like, sorry, didn’t mean to—” He swallows, moves his eyes so they’re on Youngjo (even if he doesn’t really _see_ anything—his eyes aren’t processing and his head is one, two, _three_ beats behind), laughs and moves his gaze away. “Pet you that long? Just—uh, soft, fluffy, sorry”

He finishes with another laugh—a little louder and more forced, and Youngjo shakes his head at him, hand he dropped on the mattress at some point now close enough to Seoho’s he can feel it _burn_.

“Seoho” His name feels _soft_ on Youngjo’s lips, voice a melody in Seoho’s ears that almost scares him. Seoho tries his best—focuses back on reality and now on Youngjo’s hand, on the way it’s a little closer now, warmth permeating and _longing_. Youngjo gives him a smile—taps at his hand a couple times, and Seoho doesn’t understand _why,_ but it’s grounding enough for him to look up, find Youngjo’s eyes properly this time. “It was nice”

Seoho lets himself smile—laughter bubbling up and leaving his lips in a mess of volume and pitch. His hand seems to move forward on his own, flicks at Youngjo’s before pulling away—it lands against Seoho’s mouth, covers his face from view.

“You’re a cat—” A statement, cut off by Seoho laughing into his hand—hard enough for his eyes to close and almost tear up. Youngjo seems confused—and Seoho can hear the little noise he makes, high and almost whiny—can feel the way his hand goes to the one Seoho has against his mouth to try and pull it back in something that might be questioning, or might be embarrassment.

Since he’s learnt Youngjo _can_ feel embarrassed sometimes, it really could be either of both.

Seoho moves back, hits the wall—opens his eyes and sees Youngjo follow until he’s next to him, shoulder resting against the wall and hand swatting at Seoho’s still.

“Why’re you laughing?” He sounds fond, even if he tries for annoyed—sounds nervous even if he tries to sound sure—and Seoho can only laugh a little more before he lets his hand lower (lets Youngjo catch it and pull it away, down until it’s between them and under Youngjo’s warmth), turns to look at Youngjo a little better.

“Cat” Youngjo’s nose scrunches up—ears twitching down again—and Seoho’s overtaken by yet another wave of laughter, this time uncovered and unashamed. Youngjo shoves at his shoulder with his free hand, and Seoho snorts so hard he hits his head on the wall.

Does he stop laughing? No.

Youngjo doesn’t even pretend to worry—shoves at Seoho’s shoulder again and decides to headbutt Seoho right on the face.

Youngjo’s ears tickle against his nose—Seoho feels the laughing bout start to subside when Youngjo pulls away with a frown.

“You’re a cat—that’s so—like—when you left the package on my window, or when you showed up and waited at my door—like, that was” He snickers again, feels the warmth of the blankets and Youngjo’s hand against his “that was you”

“I hope—like, in retrospective, that doesn’t feel creepy” Seoho laughs again, back of his head hitting the wall softly as he looks up at the ceiling. Youngjo lets his head fall against the wall too—eyes still on Seoho and frown pretty on his features.

“I mean, well—” Seoho shrugs “Maybe? Not one to dwell on that, though— told you I chose to trust you, so” Youngjo seems about to complain so Seoho sighs, doesn’t think about how he turns the hand he has under Youngjo’s over so their palms are together. “You—didn’t feel like any danger, I trust my intuition on that”

Youngjo huffs out a breath at that—doesn’t comment on anything as he intertwines their fingers just the _bare_ minimum, so Seoho lets him—lets him and doesn’t think about it—doesn’t let himself.

“I’m glad” Youngjo smiles, falls a little forward on the wall so he’s closer to Seoho—falls into silence.

Seoho hums—picks a song that his brain can remember and runs the lyrics over his tongue quietly. Youngjo seems happy, hums along like that night at the park—hands held just a little tighter and Seoho’s mind turning, turning, turning…

————

(He stays at Youngjo’s house until it’s almost class time—remembers to give him back his food containers once they get up to find something edible in the fridge for lunch. Youngjo laughs, says he had forgotten about them—says thank you as he puts them back inside doors and drawers in the kitchen.

They don’t do much of anything—simply sit and talk about _whatever_ —about Leedo and Geonhak being one and the same, then, just a single fluffy and grumpy-looking catboy with a cute face—then about how Youngjo had even ended up at Seoho’s building that day—

“I live close-by—we take similar roads and buses, you know, I saw you sometimes—I, like, always thought you looked too tired, I got worried— and then whenever I was out late so were you, so—”

“Why were you out late, though?” A shrug, Youngjo’s head falling on Seoho’s lap—Seoho’s fingers kind against his hair and ears.

“I’m a cat, nocturnal” Seoho laughs, pulls a little before scratching at the base of his ears.

“Okay”

They talk about Hwanwoong, about how he does at the club—they talk about dance classes and about Seoho’s singing and Youngjo’s music—

They talk about nothing and talk about life—they talk about nothing and don’t talk about feelings.)

(By the time he has to leave, Seoho’s heart feels like it has crawled its way out from somewhere he had lost it—from some unknown abyss that had now set him free—

Seoho’s not sure he likes that—

At the very least, he knows a word to put to his feelings now—phone in his hands as he texts Hwanwoong that _oh_

 _He really_ does _have a crush.)_

————

Friday comes around, and Seoho’s stress has quickly risen from zero to a hundred—work’s a lot busier, with students left and right asking for help in their final projects, final check-ups so they know they’re on the right track, and the professor he works with asking him to give feedback on about half the class’ advances on final reports.

Seoho likes work, yeah, but he’s tired.

On top of that, Changmin’s been bugging him for a duo piece for the next week, since Hwanwoong had suddenly needed someone who could step in in the showcase he was taking part in (someone had gotten injured—lost their chance to perform, nothing rare, but bitter nevertheless)—Seoho doesn’t mind, he likes to dance, likes to dance with people and likes to see Hwanwoong relax when someone he knows is dancing together with him.

He really doesn’t mind, hence why he volunteered, but _god—_ Changmin was ruthless when it came to dance, even more so than Hwanwoong, so practice has been digging down to his bones until he can’t move—he hasn’t known peace or rest since Wednesday morning.

And on _top_ of that—well, he is also a student and, even though he’s only taking four classes, he still has finals he has to work on—groupmates to get on track and reports to type up until his eyes hurt and words don’t make any sense anymore.

At the very least, his singing teacher had agreed to give him time off—he was doing well, was having fun and liked going to class, but he couldn’t really focus on it when school and others were absolutely draining his brain of all it was worth.

And he still couldn’t sleep.

He taps away at something or other on his laptop—scientific papers he needs to revise during the weekend, an empty document he’s sure is supposed to hold _something_ in it but he can’t bother to type. The classroom’s empty—assistance for his students today isn’t necessary, and the professor had left to get something to drink to ignore his work for some minutes (which is fair, Seoho thinks, he wishes he could do that too)—so it’s just him and his computer, phone abandoned face down against the desk.

He should be working, yeah, but he kind of wants to sleep—even though he can’t at night, his body seems to have decided that while at work is a _perfectly_ reasonable time to shut down.

He blinks—taps away and onto social media, sees nothing interesting except for a post that _might_ me from Juyeon and that also _might_ be some corny thing about his boyfriend. Seoho makes a face, writes up a playful _lol corny_ and closes the tab.

He glances at his phone—brings a hand up to his laptop screen and closes it.

He leans back on his chair, one hand on the table and tapping at the back of his phone—stares at the ceiling and breathes.

His mind’s been turning a lot, lately—turning a lot on the feelings side, rusted clogs he thought were already broken noisy as they _clack clack clack_ against each other—make up thoughts that come and go, mist at the back and front of his mind.

He hasn’t talked to Youngjo for a few hours, not since early morning when he hadn’t managed to fall asleep—Seoho’s been busy with dance since he’s been conscious after almost no sleep, and by the time he could get back to looking at messages, Youngjo was already busy at work and couldn’t reply.

Hwanwoong’s in class, Dongju’s in class, Keonhee’s working on projects, Dongmyeong’s in class—

Seoho breathes, leans forward again, turns his phone over.

It’s not that he can’t live without talking to someone at any given moment, even if his friends claim so, because he’s usually talkative and loud—it’s not that he can’t be on his own.

It’s just that he doesn’t want to.

His head’s still spinning—he looks over chats he has, some unopened, some left on read.

He could bother Hwanwoong until he replied, Hwanwoong looked at his phone while in class sometimes—but he doesn’t really want to.

He could bother anyone, really, but he opens his chat with Youngjo—smiles at the last message being just a _please try to sleep some tonight_ from around 6am.

He appreciates the thoughtfulness, even if he had only slept maybe three hours before Changmin broke down his door with notes for the dance routine.

He considers lying—decides that there’s no need.

**Seoho** **:**

| 

i slept  
  
---|---  
  
| 

Three Whole Hours  
  
| 

and then changmin broke down my door  
  
| 

and now im abotu to fallasleep at work casuetherse nothign to do  
  
**Youngjo** **🐾:**

| 

get some water!!!!!  
  
| 

i hope u can sleep more tonight 😟  
  
**Seoho** **:**

| 

woa whyre u textin at work tf  
  
| 

did I remember ur schedule wrong  
  
| 

i couoldve been btoehring u since earlier…  
  
**Youngjo** **🐾:**

| 

haha no u were right  
  
| 

got out a lil early is all  
  
| 

wouldve texted but figured u were at work?  
  
**Seoho** **:**

| 

that i am  
  
| 

butfree  
  
| 

have stuff to do but im so t iered  
  
| 

tired  
  
**Youngjo** **🐾:**

| 

rest is good 😊  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

i shouldnt be resting tho  
  
**Youngjo** **🐾:**

| 

sh  
  
| 

its ok to rest  
  
| 

if ure tired u wont do things well  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

hghrhjhhrhghghr  
  
**Youngjo** **🐾:**

| 

hahaha  
  
| 

we can just talk  
  
| 

wont scold u ill take this as resting 😉  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

hmmm tempting  
  
| 

ah  
  
| 

so uknow ive beenthinking about htihs but  
  
| 

ure a cat  
  
**Youngjo** **🐾:**

| 

yes?  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

are ur senses like a cats  
  
| 

like is it that when ure human form ur senses are like cat and when ure cat theyre still cat  
  
| 

or are ur senses always human so when ure a cat ure just like a really realyl weird cat cause u have human senses instead of cat  
  
| 

or is it like  
  
| 

ur senses change depending on the form?  
  
| 

thats also like woah tho must be wild  
  
**Youngjo** **🐾:**

| 

hm  
  
| 

hadnt really thought about it much yet huh  
  
| 

Its kind of in the middle  
  
| 

changes depending on which shape but some stuff stays the same like hearing or like how well i can see at night?  
  
| 

but im weak with colours and need glasses haha  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

u what  
  
| 

Ive never seen u wear them???  
  
**Youngjo** **🐾:**

| 

contacts😈  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

do u wear contact lenses while ure a cat  
  
| 

actually  
  
| 

what happens to ur stuff while ure a cat where does it go  
  
| 

does it all stay at home like do u only change when ure at home so ur clpthes and stuff stay theer  
  
| 

or can u just do it anwyhere and its fine cause magic makes the clotesh stay wiht u by some wierd turn in the frafments of reality  
  
**Youngjo** **🐾:**

| 

hhahahahahaha  
  
| 

the second one? i guess  
  
| 

contacts go with it too  
  
| 

cant really explain logically i guess haha  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

u have cat ears  
  
| 

u and logic do not go together  
  
| 

u andur roommate are cats  
  
| 

no logic in hisst house  
  
**Youngjo** **🐾:**

| 

haha i guess so  
  
| 

hmm so when was your show anyway?  
  
| 

if im free i wanna go  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

huh?  
  
| 

u wanna what  
  
**Youngjo** **🐾:**

| 

wanna see u dance🔥🔥  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

why  
  
**Youngjo** **🐾:**

| 

i like dance? haha  
  
| 

and hmm well  
  
| 

i like you and youre very pretty  
  
| 

hehe  
  
Seoho slams his phone down on the desk and stands up all in one breath.

That—he was not expecting that. He really wasn’t expecting that. He doesn’t know what to _reply_ to that.

Had Youngjo always been this flirty? Was Youngjo likes this to everyone? Was he overthinking?

Was he liked _back_?

He drops back on the chair, hand hovering over his phone and breathing uneven.

He glances at the door—still closed—the classroom’s still empty—he’s still on his own.

He breathes in—out—picks up his phone.

He reads the messages—once, twice, thrice—four, five, six, seven— rereads them until his brain’s spinning and he’s not sure where he’s sitting or if the clock ticked forward a second or sent him back five.

This—it could be jokingly, it could be friendship, it could be because they’re closer—because Youngjo trusts him more now, because Youngjo’s always like that, because they’re _friends_ and friends _do that_ and—

He taps on the screen, blinks at his keyboard.

He doesn’t want to think about it.

**Seoho:**

| 

Hahahahahahahaha ha h a ha  
  
---|---  
  
**Youngjo** **🐾:**

| 

haha?  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

its on sat  
  
| 

next week  
  
| 

afternoon uh i guess it ll start at like  
  
| 

4?  
  
| 

ill send addresr later  
  
| 

heheheh  
  
**Youngjo** **🐾:**

| 

oh  
  
| 

im free  
  
| 

ill see you there then?  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

hell yeah  
  
| 

support woongie too hes been working on this for so long  
  
| 

hes excited  
  
| 

kinda cute ngl  
  
**Youngjo** **🐾:**

| 

will do hahah  
  
Someone comes in then—door creaking quietly as they greet in a tiny voice. Seoho blinks away from his phone, puts it down on the table and gives the student a wave—motions for them to come forward, sit down so they can look over whatever they might have.

He leaves his phone aside on the table, only opens his laptop when the guy asks for some research papers he can’t seem to find—doesn’t touch it again until the next person comes.

Somehow, everything turns busy suddenly—his phone buzzes mutedly against strewn papers over his laptop, but Seoho doesn’t have the time to get to it.

————

**Youngjo** **🐾:**

| 

i actually  
  
---|---  
  
| 

i know youre super busy but  
  
| 

i was wondering if we could maybe hang out? or meet up or something um  
  
| 

if u have any free moment 😖  
  
| 

u can work at my house too so  
  
| 

haha  
  
| 

just if u can you know  
  
| 

and if u want  
  
————

Seoho only gets back to his phone after work is over—half an hour past proper ending time, because he was nice enough to stay with students who had gotten there a little little. He’s tired, wondering if he can get maybe 30 minutes of rest by sleeping right on the campus floor—figures that no, he’d probably oversleep.

He settles for buying a warm drink and sitting on a bench inside the building, right outside his classroom—feels the tips of his fingers warm up against the paper cup.

He opens his chat with Youngjo first, smiles as he sips on warm tea and reads over the messages.

**Seoho:**

| 

tomorrow maybe?  
  
---|---  
  
| 

but like late afternoon or evening huh  
  
| 

sunday i got all day  
  
| 

if thts ok with u  
  
| 

and geonhakssi  
  
| 

actually been wondering is he odler than ne is he ur age  
  
| 

cause he looks lieka ababy  
  
| 

anyway yeahtomorrow if u want to pick me up form dance class actually 😛  
  
| 

sunday i might be dead  
  
| 

so  
  
————

**Youngjo** **🐾** **:**

| 

same address as the show or  
  
---|---  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

yea  
  
**Youngjo** **🐾** **:**

| 

ill be there at 6?  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

sounds good  
  
| 

cant promise ill be out on time or early so sorry if u gotta wait in advance  
  
**Youngjo** **🐾:**

| 

i don’t mind 😊  
  
Seoho drops his phone by his pillow, face up and towards the ceiling.

He feels fuzzy—feels his head spinning and feels himself laughing, quiet and high-pitched into the air.

It’s not a bad feeling—having a crush is not a bad feeling—feeling happy talking to someone, _liking_ someone, letting himself do so—

He’s used to making others laugh, but it’s fine—he guesses—to make himself smile as well.

(He chooses not to ponder on doubts—on the ‘what if’s that plague at the back and sides of his mind.

He chooses not to focus on the side that tells him that unrequited love will hurt more that having not loved at all—

Chooses not to focus on the way his brain tells him Youngjo’s flirty and sweet like that—to everyone and anyone. The way he’s comforting and cute and would look at whoever like they’re the most precious person in the whole world—

Chooses not to focus on the doubts and murky waters—

If it’s unrequited—if it’s something that’s to fade and leave him suffering—

It’s okay, at least, to have experienced it.)

————

Saturday evening finds Seoho sitting on a bench at the back of the practice room—whole body aching and sweaty from dancing for hours on end. Changmin’s somewhere in the room, Seoho’s sure, but he can’t really focus on _anything_ besides being tired as hell and _also_ having maybe five different things he wants to get to once he can sit down at a desk.

He’d rather just pass out, really, but he can’t do that—finals are all due the following week, he’s got basically no time, especially with extra practice piling up (and with making sure Hwanwoong _eats_ —though Dongju helps out a lot with that—and then making sure _he himself_ eats, and making sure Dongju _sleeps—_ making sure of a lot of things, really).

Overall—things are tiring.

He stretches his legs—heel against the floor, lets his head and back rest against the wall behind him.

It’s the middle of winter—temperature having dropped below zero that day—but Seoho still feels like his everything is _burning_.

He leans forward—reaches down for his knees and as far as he can go, makes a noise that’s somewhere between _help_ and _I wish to leave this mortal existence_ —but it mostly just sounds like a very long _nnnnnnnnaaaaa_ that seems to increase in volume.

Chanhee, who had shown up at the door at some point during Seoho’s musings, looks at him in mild amusement—bottle of water held in one hand as he stops on his way to Changmin.

Seoho blinks—stops moving and looks at him from his half-bend position—smiles and gives a wave.

Chanhee snorts and waves back—Seoho goes back to his stretching, only stops when Changmin approaches and pats him on the head.

“Hyung?” Seoho looks up, feels his bangs get in his eyes and frowns—blows at them.

“Hello” He leans back and sits properly, brings his legs back so they’re a little bent under the bench. “What’s up?”

“Visitor?— Dunno, but Chanhee said there’s someone waiting for you downstairs” Changmin points at the door, slides a bottle of water in Seoho’s hands. “You can leave if you have to, think we’re done for now”

Seoho takes the bottle, taps at it a little nervously. “You sure?”

Changmin nods—cheerful, then gives Seoho a pat on the shoulder. “Already tired, let’s just pick it up a little next week” He gives a last smile—Seoho returns it with a quiet _thanks_ and pushes himself up.

Walking to his stuff—downing half the bottle of water, he thinks about Youngjo.

He _did_ tell him to pick him up—but it had been jokingly, sort of.

He hadn’t expected Youngjo to _actually_ show up—not until they were on break during class and he had gotten a message asking if Seoho was fine with Youngjo buying him snacks or something for when he left class later.

Call him dumb (he is), but he hadn’t expected that.

He closes the bottle with ease—shoves it into his bag at the corner of the room.

He takes all his stuff, puts on jackets and whatnot, sighs under his breath and turns to wave bye together with a loud _see you next week!_ and a smile.

His dance class is on the third floor—as are the practice rooms they had all split up to once it came time to practice for next week’s performances—so he times some time to drop by Hwanwoong’s little hell and remind him to _please_ go home before sunrise (Hwanwoong is half-dazed and seemingly frustrated when he replies—eyes lost when he gives him a wave and mouths him an _okay_ ), then heads to the stairs and walks down.

He stops once he’s on the first floor—takes a second to breathe and calm down nerves leaning against the wall, uses the dead time as an excuse to text the twins about Hwanwoong probably not going home and to please get him the hell out (Dongmyeong had left early—something about band practice and also having nothing for the next week anyway. Dongju was at home, undoubtedly typing up reports and papers to completion so he’d be able to give them in perfectly on time and not have to worry last second—the guy was smart in that, but that also meant he didn’t have time _today_ to make sure Hwanwoong got his ass back home). Once that’s done, he shoves his phone in his pocket and simply _breathes_ —

A second, two—

Three—

He closes his eyes, shoves his hands in the pockets of his jacket—why the _hell_ was he even nervous?

He feels silly—nervous like a lovestruck high schooler and smiling himself silly as he walks towards the front door. He spots Youngjo, sitting in one of the waiting chairs with earbuds in, hair and ears covered in his usual beanie and a huge jacket stylishly makes him look like a fluffy cat—which is what he is, really. He seems to be half-asleep, a little curled in on himself and eyes closed.

It’s cute—Seoho’s heart does a little leap, and Seoho swallows down thoughts of romance and nerves as he stops in front of Youngjo.

He considers patting his head, or poking his face—settles on crouching down so he’s a little below eye level and pulling at his earbuds.

“Wake” He pokes at Youngjo’s forehead. Youngjo makes a _tiny_ noise, a sleepy whine—then blinks his eyes open.

His pupils are _wide_ —circular and cute as he seems to come back to reality.

Youngjo looks adorable—Seoho thinks he might just fall over and cry.

He doesn’t, instead pokes at his forehead again and smiles. “Wake up, hyung”

Youngjo blinks again—finally focuses on Seoho, tilts his head a little to the side and blinks again before he smiles back.

“Hey” Sleepy, he runs a hand over his eyes and sits up—Seoho stands up again and lets the wired earbud fall on Youngjo’s lap. “Sorry—didn’t think I’d fall asleep” He frowns—Seoho sees the way his ears under the beanie seem to have moved down, _upset_.

Seoho gives him a shrug—laughs a little. “Nah—sorry for making you wait, actually”

“I don’t mind, just—was more tired than I thought I was” Youngjo stands up—stretches before shaking his head to get himself more awake.

Seoho kind of _really_ wants to pet him—but he holds back, kind of has no choice about it.

“What’d you wanna do?” They step outside, steps light under streetlights and noise from a nearby avenue. Youngjo hums, seems _genuinely_ deep in thought for a moment—they turn a corner, and he shrugs.

“Just kinda wanted to see you?” He laughs easily—Seoho nearly trips, masks it by walking a little faster instead.

“Oh” Youngjo catches up—gives him a playful smile as he overtakes his speed before stopping in front of him. Seoho halts, grips nothing inside his pockets. “That’s sweet of you”

Youngjo laughs—eyes wide a second before they close and he’s got his arm covering his mouth. Seoho only smiles back, both of them stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. “Is it? Think it’s pretty normal—when you like someone, I mean”

Seoho sighs, pushes past him. “Friendly—do we have to take the same bus back?”

“To my place?” Seoho nods, Youngjo gives him a quiet _yeah_ —starts walking at a comfortable pace next to Seoho. “It’s a little more walking from the stop, though”

————

The bus ride is quick—no traffic to burst their eardrums and stress out the trip for once—and they make it to Youngjo’s house after not long walking in the cold. The place is as full of _life_ and the feel of two young adults as last time, is in fact even messier now—Seoho wonders if either Youngjo or Geonhak tried cleaning up the living room a little bit before he visited.

He wonders, actually, if they tend to have visitors at all.

He leaves his things neatly next to the door—drops his jacket in favour of the warmth of comfortable heating that isn’t failing like the one at his apartment (they were getting it fixed on Monday—finally) and considers taking out his laptop for a second—

A second—and then Youngjo’s pushing him forward and away from the door, smile on his face as he motions to the door to his room—Seoho follows, ends up with a stack of clothes in his hands as Youngjo tells him to feel free to change there, it’s fine—tells him that the living room’s free and he can make himself at home, because it was Youngjo that came by to bother him suddenly—a thousand things that make Seoho kind of want to burst with affection and _awkwardness._

Youngjo leaves after telling him he’s going to heat up some food leftover from what Geonhak made earlier—mentions Geonhak works until late still when Seoho asks where his roommate is—and then Youngjo closes the door quietly, and Seoho’s head is spinning as he stands in the middle of the room.

Alright, then—he wasn’t sure what he was in for when he saw Youngjo was gonna pick him up, but he guesses simply _hanging_ _out_ while Seoho slaves over work is one of the best possible scenarios.

He’d love to just talk—talk and play something and spend proper time together—but he’s tired, and class is busy, and Youngjo’s presence is healing enough that he wants to simply have him around, even when Seoho’s not talking and trying to joke around for once in his life.

He changes quickly—folds up his clothes carefully, then walks outside and drops everything over his bag.

He feels better outside his sweaty clothes—he usually waited until he was home to change, hadn’t actually thought to bring a change of clothes with him that day—he’s glad Youngjo seemed to have thought ahead more than him.

More comfortable, he heads to the living room again—spots Youngjo on the couch. He’s changed, too, somehow grabbed clothes while chatting with Seoho and telling him where everything was and what he could do—is now wearing a thin jacket and t-shirt with sweatpants. His beanie’s gone, ears cutely standing out from the mess of his hair and, behind him, Seoho can see what is most _definitely_ a tail—curled up cutely in something like a question mark shape and swishing softly from side to side.

He walks over to the back of the couch quickly— amused in the way Youngjo’s ears seem to follow his movements even as Youngjo focuses on his phone screen.

He reaches forward—pokes at the back of Youngjo’s ears just to see them twitch against his hand—then he moves a little more, pokes at the tip of his tail.

Youngjo tenses—ears pointed upwards and tail and _everything_ suddenly fluffed up—

And then he drops his phone on the couch, jumps forward faster than Seoho can process and lands on his feet in front of the couch, facing Seoho.

Youngjo’s ears twitch—he looks like a particularly soft and scared pompom—Seoho can’t help but laugh, loud and high-pitched behind his arm, eyes closing and breathing a little hard.

Youngjo takes a second—then calms down, un-fluffs and makes a noise. Seoho manages to calm down to, wipes at his eyes before he speaks up.

“You had a tail?” He walks around the couch, drops down and eyes the food on the small centre table he hadn’t noticed before—it looks good, meat and vegetables carefully chopped up with what might be an egg in soup. Youngjo drops down next to him—leaves as much space as possible between them, then leans back on the couch.

“Sometimes” Youngjo’s tail flicks between them, Seoho’s eyes land on it, curious—he raises a hand, gets it a little closer. Youngjo breathes out a laugh, embarrassed. “When I’m, like, relaxed at home? If I’m not careful it—uh, shows up”

Seoho pokes at his tail again, Youngjo laughs a little—flicks it back.

“I didn’t notice—so I got startled, sorry” Seoho laughs at that, Youngjo laughs along, smile a little sheepish and a lot more comfortable.

“That’s cute” Seoho pauses, hums to himself as he plays with the hair of Youngjo’s tail, runs his fingers through it “…does it feel weird when I touch it?”

Youngjo shakes his head, lets Seoho play with his tail for a second, then leans forward to point at the food. “Kinda sensitive, that’s it—also this is—you can eat, want to eat?” Seoho nods, gestures to the food, table and Youngjo with his hands hovering in the air.

“Share with me?” Youngjo blinks—gives him a smile again.

“Sure”

————

At some point, Seoho goes for his bag—takes out his laptop and throws notebooks and readings around him on the couch. He’s sitting against the corner, laptop over a pillow on his thighs, glasses now on his face and hair a complete mess. The centre table has the plates from earlier, now empty and stained, in a corner, the rest of it taken over by pens and pencils Youngjo had taken out at some point—a sketchbook he brought along with them now on the couch, open on a random page with colourful stains here and there and countless lines in pencil.

The heating’s warm enough—but they still have a blanket with them, half of it draped over Seoho’s back and the other on Youngjo, who’s now sitting closer to Seoho—

A lot closer— hands on his phone and head almost on Seoho’s shoulder. His ears tickle Seoho’s face slightly, but he doesn’t really complain, doesn’t complain about Youngjo’s tail curling against his upper arm, either.

It’s comfortable—he’s not one to give in to physical touch all that much, but with Youngjo it comes easy.

Maybe it has to do with how _soft_ Youngjo is about it, even if he seems to be the cuddly type—never forcing himself on Seoho and always making sure he’s _comfortable_ because moving even _just_ a little closer.

Maybe it has to do with how _genuine_ every touch feels—how much warmth Seoho can feel in the way one of Youngjo’s ears twitches against his hair, on every little word Youngjo says—on the way he looks at Seoho and the world—

Maybe it has to do with how _gay_ Seoho feels—he’s not really sure.

But it’s nice—even if scary, even if his thoughts turn behind scientific essays and readings he can’t fully process so late at night (because it’s about midnight now and he hasn’t moved in _hours_ )—scream everything that could go wrong at him and scold him for having feelings.

It’s nice—he taps away at another document, closes a tab he’s just finished reading, is about to reach out for some papers he’s realized he needs when he feels a light _boop_ on his shoulder—feels fluffy hair tickle his neck and face even _closer_ —

Hears light, _light_ snoring and mumbling from Youngjo—

Youngjo, who’s fallen asleep on Seoho’s shoulder—phone fallen on his lap with a muted noise.

Oh.

_Oh._

Seoho’s first instinct is to _run_ —to drop even his laptop on the floor and simply _flee_ in the middle of the night until he gets home, where he can scream into his pillow and pretend his heart isn’t nauseating up his throat and like he’s not overwhelmed overwhelmed _overwhelmed_ by feelings and thoughts that turn and turn and _turn—_

He doesn’t run—instead inhales, shaky and unsure, leans back more comfortably on the couch. Youngjo falls back with him—Seoho makes sure to pull him back, albeit nervously, so that he doesn’t fall forward and startle.

Young settles against the crook of his neck—Seoho feels like screaming.

He can’t focus like this—can’t even force himself to, so he closes his laptop, carefully and safely drops it where he can reach.

He can pick it up later—later, later he can think about things, later he can function and wallow and question—later.

For now, he moves so he can get the blanket out from behind them, instead drapes it over their laps—

For now, he cuddles a little closer to Youngjo—until he feels Youngjo’s ears against his chin and his breath against his neck and chest—until Seoho’s hands shake and Youngjo’s tail burns against his arm—

Until Seoho’s thoughts eat at each other—until he can’t help thinking this is the most he’s ever going to get—until his brain screams and screams and he simply can’t fall asleep—

Like always.

Youngjo shifts in his sleep, holds onto the front of Seoho’s shirt and mumbles something unintelligible.

Cute—cute cute cute _very cute_ and Seoho doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do—if he’s supposed to wake Youngjo up, tell him to go to bed and settle on the couch on his own—if he’s supposed to pull Youngjo closer so he’s more comfortable and his neck hurts less—if he’s supposed to _run_ like his brain tells him, until he’s home and breathing hurts and the little taste of _something_ he never knew he even _wanted_ starts to haunt haunt haunt until Seoho gives up and loses his mind and realizes that—

That—

He lets his eyes fall closed, breathes out—shaky and almost breaking at the seams, opens his eyes again and stares at the ceiling.

He doesn’t want to think—about what he wants or not—about what he _deserves_ , about what it’s like to feel—

He doesn’t want to think.

He gets his phone from his pocket, looks at the time—focuses on whatever game his brain can do while it’s overworked and overheated, lets Youngjo burrow closer—feels the way his ears and tail twitch against Seoho’s skin, the way his hands hold on and let go, over and over.

He kills time—kills his thoughts and focuses on nothing—

Before he realizes, he’s also half-asleep, brain fuzzy and hands not working. He drops his phone on his chest, doesn’t think about anything as he pulls Youngjo closer to settle against him more comfortably.

It feels like the natural thing to do—to cuddle up close against Youngjo, to let himself be a little weaker and give in to _wanting_ something.

He dozes off—stays in that weird reality between awake and asleep—one where he can’t hear his own thoughts, can’t really process anything but the quiet snoring next to him—the mumbling and the way it’s all fuzzy fuzzy _fuzzy—_

It’s a few hours before he opens his eyes, properly awake this time—and it’s only because Youngjo’s twitching a little more, ears flicking each and every direction and tickling Seoho’s skin.

Seoho blinks—bumps his hand against his glasses trying to rub at his eyes—wakes up and pushes himself a little upright. His neck _hurts_ , and all his limbs are sore from a combination of dancing, stress, and sleeping curled up with someone else on the corner of a couch.

It’s still a little dark out—dawn starting to show its colours, painting everything in a golden hue even past the drawn curtains.

Youngjo yawns, rubs the top of his head against Seoho’s neck for a second—settles back against him again. Seoho yawns, too, lowers his hand now to pet at Youngjo’s hair—the base of his ears.

“Hyung?” Seoho’s throat feels sore—it feels heavy to talk, feels like sleep will pull him back at any second.

Youngjo replies with a hum, sleepy against Seoho’s skin—pulls a little on Seoho’s shirt.

Seoho takes a second—has a hard time remembering _how_ to function right now, has a hard time remembering words and how he’s supposed to use them.

He pulls at Youngjo’s hair softly—Youngjo hums again.

“You should go to bed” Quiet, Youngjo blinks against his skin. Seoho pulls at his hair again, tries to wake him up. “Hyung, hey—your back’s gonna hurt”

Youngjo gets up, finally, pulls himself away from Seoho enough that they can make eye contact.

His hair’s a mess—even more so than before, sticking out everywhere and even standing up in messy curls. His ears are a little droopy against it, twitching against noises but not too alert, and his face is a little red, eyes teary and pupils wide from having just been asleep.

Again again _again_ —he looks cute. He looks cute and Seoho’s brain is half-asleep and everything’s spinning and fuzzy and comfortable and—

It hits him, heavy on his chest as Youngjo yawns—fangs peeking out and eyes half closed—and pushes himself to sit up better—

It hits Seoho hard as he sits up himself, eyes half-open and lips parted—hair all over his face in a mess of fading mint and pink against his skin—

Without thinking, he pushes a little forward—a little closer—until he can feel Youngjo’s warmth against his forehead, until their breaths mix and turn to one and to nothing—Youngjo’s hair tickling his forehead and Seoho’s falling on both of their eyes—

It hits him—that he wants to kiss him, that he _could_ kiss him, that he—

Something in him snaps—hits him awake with enough force it drives him as far back as he can manage, eyes wide and breathing heavy and uneasy uneasy _uneasy—_

Youngjo’s eyes are wide, too—confused and questioning and _holy shit—_

_Holy shit, Seoho almost kissed him._

“You should—” Seoho’s throat burns—every word a needle and thorn that he has to spit out and swallow swallow _swallow_ — “to your room—you should go—like” Seoho’s voice is lilted with laughter—awkward and painful and unsteady in its pitch.

“Oh” Youngjo takes a moment—blinks at him—breaks eye contact and gives Seoho a nod. “Yeah, yeah—I should, sorry for—” A breath—they both look at nothing. Youngjo breathes out—shaky and almost a laugh “yeah”

“Yeah” Youngjo stands up then, makes sure to drops his stuff on the table on his way out—Seoho simply watches, breathing stuck in his throat and head kilometres a second—too fast and too fuzzy and and _and—_

The door to Youngjo’s room closes with a quiet noise—Seoho breathes in, falls back against the backrest of the couch—

He breathes out—eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling.

He wasn’t—

He wasn’t supposed to _want_ anything, was he?

He wasn’t supposed to want to be—to be loved back—to want affection and to want to _take_ anything at all—he wasn’t—

He wasn’t supposed to be selfish—not like that, not now, not, not not not notnotnotnot _notnotnot—_

_What the hell—_

_What the hell is he supposed to_ do?

————

He ends up heading home during the early afternoon, after the worst 6 hours of sleep he had ever managed to have—his head’s too much of a mess, and he can’t even look Youngjo in the eye without feeling a mix of guilt and _gay_.

Youngjo had tried his best—had been just as comfortable seeming as the night before, just as happy to let Seoho walk around and stay there, had even kept Geonhak away when he had left the kitchenette looking at Seoho with what was very much _anger_.

Seoho does not know why—figures, though, that he deserves the anger being directed at him, trying to kiss who he supposes is Geonhak’s best friend and all and then refusing to look him in the eye merely a few hours later— all while crashing at his couch, taking his kindness.

Seoho feels like shit—his feelings are a mess and his feet are basically _running_ back home and he feels like burying himself in work until things just _stop_ being completely.

If _he_ could stop being, as well, then it’d be neat, he thinks.

He makes back to his apartment’s door without even noticing, hands shaking and jacket very much unzipped and _freezing_ —he left in a rush, probably left his sweater and hat at Youngjo’s because he can’t find them _anywhere_ on himself—

He shoves his hand in his bag, fishes for his keys—takes them out and shoves them in the lock as quick as he can, opens it and rushes inside.

It’s cold, of course it is, the heating’s faulty still—he feels himself shiver, takes off his shoes at lightspeed before throwing his coat wherever it falls and running to his room.

He opens the door a little loudly, maybe too aggressively—but Hwanwoong’s a heavy sleeper, so he figures it’s fine, pushes past the door and lets it slam closed, spares Hwanwoong (still sleeping) a glance before he turns to his bed and—

“Hyung?” Dongju’s voice is heavy with sleep, evidently tired and not wanting to be awake, and Seoho feels like shit _again_ because oh—

Dongju’s there—of course he is, probably arrived at some ungodly hour of the night after Dongmyeong had dragged Hwanwoong home and while Hwanwoong was overworking final projects and whatever else.

And, of course, Dongju’s a light sleeper—most likely woke up thanks to Seoho slamming all doors in the house shut and probably running like he’s dying and needing to escape _something._

(His own feelings, nothing else—and he can’t run from those, not like this—)

Seoho swallows, turns to Hwanwoong’s bed and gives a wave and an awkward laugh—forced and painful down his throat. He can see that Dongju’s sitting up against the headboard, one handholding his phone and the other running through Hwanwoong’s hair—Hwanwoong’s still asleep, of course, as close to Dongju as possible even then.

It’s cute—it also makes Seoho kind of want to cry.

“Hey” His throat feels dry, Seoho licks at his lips, swallows again and takes a step towards Dongju because, apparently, he likes to suffer. “Didn’t know you’d be here?”

Dongju shrugs, shifts so he’s facing Seoho a little better. “Come by late” His fingers pull at Hwanwoong’s hair slightly, undoubtedly annoyed even as he is caring. “Dongmyeong asked”

“Huh” Seoho can’t stop feeling tense— tense at everything, like his limbs are all being held by strings that pull pull _pull—_ “I see”

He runs a hand through his hair, pushes his glasses askew—turns around again to head to his bed and forget forget _forget—_

“Hyung” Seoho stops—midway through throwing his shirt off and finding whatever there is on his bed to put on. He swallows again, feels his own breathing speed up and everything _turn_. “Did something…happen?”

“No” Seoho’s reply is quick—as cutting as he can make it. He kneels down on his bed, looks under messy bedsheets—lets the freezing _everything_ wake him up and take him away from his thoughts.

“Something happened” Dongju sounds almost angry— Seoho feels it sting at the back of his head.

Maybe, just maybe, he hates that the guy’s so sharp.

He breathes in, finds a random shirt and puts it on—finishes changing and drops on the bed. “Nothing happened”

“Hyung—”

“Nothing happened, Dongju” His voice goes a little loud—out of control and almost at breaking point.

Seoho hates it.

He hears a noise—a click of Dongju’s tongue and then the rustling of bedsheets.

He guesses it’s Dongju going back to sleep in annoyance, cuddling up to Hwanwoong and whining until he falls asleep again— he can deal with that later, can apologize and treat him nicely like he deserves, because Dongju’s a good guy and Seoho’s just—

His thoughts crash and burn—and then there’s Dongju in front of him, pulling at his arm until Seoho’s sitting up on his bed and looking the closest to terrified he’s felt in _years_.

“I know I’m not—” Dongju lets go of Seoho’s arm, throws it down on the bed with a little too much force. He looks angry—worried and upset and ready to jump at Seoho’s throat until he decides to talk. “Hwanwoong, but—”

Seoho knows—knows that Dongju’s someone he can talk to, knows that Dongju might be annoying and a complete _demon_ but he cares—he cares a lot and would listen and has listened to him before—it’s just—

Seoho doesn’t know—he doesn’t know why he doesn’t want to be even more vulnerable, why he’s like this _now_ when Dongju has already heard him wonder and suffer over his crush—

Maybe it’s because this is _more—_ more than just feeling, it’s acting, it’s wanting something and _knowing_ it—it’s having figured it out and still not wanting it to even be like that because—

He’s not used to having feelings, that’s it.

“I trust you—you know that, just” He grips the bedsheets—knuckles wait and breathing just a little choked up—stuck in his throat before coughs out, licks at his lips and breathes in and out again. “Remember—Remember I told you I didn’t… know what I wanted?”

He tries for eye contact—manages to catch Dongju’s eyes. Dongju blinks, looks back at Hwanwoong for a second before he drops on Seoho’s bed—forces Seoho to look at him by pulling on his arms.

Dongju nods, Seoho exhales shakily—he shrugs, gives Dongju a slight smile.

“I think—I think I might know” Dongju cocks his head to the side, lets his hands fall over crossed legs.

“Isn’t that good?” Seoho shakes his head, brings a hand up to take his glasses off—he leaves them aside, rubs at his eyes and _breathes_.

“It’s not—” He tries, chokes. He lowers his hand, lets it fall somewhere close to Dongju’s legs, plays with the little creases on the bedsheets. “It’s not good—it’s not good if I don’t want to _want—_ ”

“Why” Seoho makes a noise, makes eye contact with Dongju again.

_Why._

He has thought about why—on the walk home, when sitting on the couch and staring at the ceiling until his brain gave up, when Dongju asked what’s wrong and when Youngjo looked at him like he hung every star in the sky and then shattered everything to dust—

He doesn’t want to put it into words—he doesn’t want to _say_ why.

If he says it, then it’ll become real—

As long as it stays in his head—as long as he doesn’t say it out loud—then it’s not like it’s real.

Right?

“Hyung—you can’t keep running away like—” Seoho huffs out—frustrated. He _knows_ , he really does—he knows that he’s avoiding and running and that he could just _talk_ for once in his life and then everything would be fine but— “What do you—what do you _want_?”

“I don’t want to—”

“But what is it—what is it that you don’t want to—”

“Youngjo—Youngjo-hyung” Seoho’s voice _breaks_ , quiet and breathy and Seoho hates it—hates being vulnerable, hates admitting things, he hates— “I almost—I wanted to kiss him and—”

He stops, hand over his eyes and breathing breaking breaking _breaking_ and painful.

Dongju moves a little closer—places a hand over Seoho’s, soft and kind and fuck fuck _fuck—_

_Fuck._

Seoho doesn’t know when he started crying—doesn’t know why and doesn’t know how to _stop it_ and—

“Why” Seoho chokes— face in his hands and breathing quick quick _quick—_ “Why is that bad?”

Dongju sounds almost sad—voice and hands soft as he reaches for Seoho’s shoulder, careful as he holds him, brings him a little closer.

_Why is that bad?_

Seoho doesn’t have an answer to that—doesn’t have anything that’s not _because that means I’m selfish_ or _because I’m not supposed to_ want _anything like this, and I can’t understand—_

“Seoho—hyung” Dongju takes a breath—swallows before he speaks again, voice close. “It’s not… it’s not selfish”

“I don’t know—” He chokes, lowers his hands and just _stares_ —as if trying to bore a hole into the bed that could somehow give him an answer, give him something that isn’t the taste and weight of _dread_ and fear in his lungs and tongue. “I just—I really—”

He breathes in, looks up at Dongju—vision blurry and nose red. He lets himself laugh, just a little—a high-pitched noise that makes Dongju frown in worry.

“I really like him—I like him a lot” Dongju nods—worried frown not lessening as he leans a little closer. Seoho sniffles, moves a hand up—pokes between Dongju’s eyebrows, right where it creases. “I’m just an idiot” He smiles, huffs out a laugh when Dongju blinks at him. “I don’t know what to do—about that, about liking him—I don’t know how to like him”

He moves his hand away from Dongju’s face, brings it to his own to rub at his eyes—he sniffles again, pushes hair from his face.

“There’s—no correct way” Dongju looks across the room then—at Hwanwoong, who’s somehow still asleep even though it’s probably like 2pm—who’s looking relaxed for once in his life and is covered in a pile of blankets and— “There’s no right way to do that—to like” He turns back to Seoho, shrugs. “You just do—and if you really like him, and then you want to kiss him or be close, then—”

Seoho sighs, rubs at the corners of his eyes with a smile—glances at Hwanwoong for a second, then back at Dongju.

“It’ll hurt, though. If it’s—” Dongju makes a questioning noise, seems to tense up a little. “unrequited, or doesn’t go right—there’s doubts and there’s—a lot, a lot I don’t want to risk—not now”

“If you—” Dongju swallows, holds both of his hands over his legs now—grip tight on his own fingers as he plays with them a little anxiously. “Don’t do anything because it might go wrong— what if it went fine? What if you’re—missing out on something—why do you assume the worst”

Seoho doesn’t reply to that—there’s not much he can say to that. He knows that—knows that very well, but—

Dongju looks at Hwanwoong again, breathes in before he speaks up. “Didn’t he say he liked—that you were his type. You told me that”

“He could be joking”

“He invited you over—he said he wanted to see you? He left you _chocolate_ as a first impression—hyung” He looks back at Seoho again, looks more frustrated than sad now. “Hyung, you’re being—dense” He licks at his lips, loosens and lets go of his own hands with a frown—angry. “Don’t you think—maybe—maybe you could be hurting _him_ , too?”

“Huh?” Seoho hadn’t thought about that—he really hadn’t. Dongju probably knew that— he knew Seoho way too well.

Dongju sighs, pushes stray hairs behind his ear. “You’re avoiding—you’re ignoring conversations and flirting and you’re being— so dense and _avoidant_ and—and I don’t know what you did when you nearly kissed him but—”

Seoho knows—he jumped away, watched Youngjo’s eyes widen and felt even his tail tense up but also curl around a _little_ bit more when Seoho got closer and—

He hadn’t felt rejection, that wasn’t rejection— that wasn’t—

Maybe—maybe Seoho was thinking too much—

“I—” He swallows, feels himself relax against the bed even if he can’t tell the reason why. “do you think I hurt him?” Dongju shrugs.

“I don’t know”

“His roommate was mad at me, I could tell, but” Dongju sighs again, stretches his legs over the edge of the bed and moves away from Seoho.

“I wouldn’t know, hyung” Dongju stands up, turns around to look at Seoho—he looks serious, looks like he’s done here and like he wants to kick Seoho into next week. “That’s not for me to think over”

He shrugs after that, dives back into Hwanwoong’s bed to jump over his boyfriend and bug him awake.

Seoho swallows, looks at them for a second before he drops back on the bed—stares at the ceiling and simply _breathes_.

That’s for _him_ to think over, yeah.

————

Monday afternoon hits, and Seoho’s head is still spinning with thoughts—finals mean that classes are cancelled for the week, only necessary to go and give in final projects or take exams and whatnot, and while it’s a good thing for his energy to have to _leave_ less, it’s also terrible for his brain to have to stay at home.

There’s a lot more time to _think—_ think about class and projects—but also to think about Youngjo—think about his conversation with Dongju the day before, about _wanting_ and being selfish, about letting himself crush and fall for someone, about—

He clicks a document open, closes it again—taps over his trackpad a couple of times before he sighs, turns to his music to put it just a little louder and _maybe_ try to focus on his work due tomorrow because—

“Hyung” Hwanwoong appears in his field of vision—pulls of one side of Seoho’s headphones before he can process anything.

Seoho blinks—pushes off his headphones the rest of the way. “You’re home?”

Hwanwoong cocks an eyebrow at him, drops in front of Seoho on the bed, knees by Seoho’s crossed legs. “Been home for hours?”

“Oh” Seoho clicks something on his screen—opens a new browser tab. “Didn’t notice, sorry” He turns back to look at what he’s doing—at open scientific papers and at the group chat for that one business class he’s required to take. Hwanwoong doesn’t move from where he is—they just stay in silence.

Seoho feels watched—he tears his eyes away from his screen again, nothing new to his document or messages and not a single word read, looks at Hwanwoong.

“Did… you need anything?” Seoho tries asking. Hwanwoong only looks back at him—frowning and tense.

“No” Seoho nods at that, lets his eyes dart around the room for a second before they settle back on his computer screen—Hwanwoong, though, still doesn’t move.

“Woongie, what—”

“What’s with you?” Hwanwoong cuts him off—his tone’s stern, one Seoho usually only hears towards Dongju, or maybe at practice when under stress—

Not one he’s heard at home, not towards him.

Seoho swallows, sits up straighter and pulls his laptop towards himself. “What?”

“You—” Hwanwoong breathes in, pushes Seoho’s laptop screen softly so it’s half-closed. “You’re being weird”

“Weird how”

“Acting—You’re acting weird” Hwanwoong closes Seoho’s laptop all the way— Seoho lets him, leaves his laptop next to him on the bed so it doesn’t fall over. “Yesterday and like—all of today. And you keep sighing, and— and I talked to Dongju and—”

“I’m not—Hwanwoong, I’m fine—” Hwanwoong clicks his tongue, frown more evident as he moves a little closer, grabs onto both of Seoho’s arms.

“No—no, you’re not fine you’re—you’re thinking, and I can _hear_ you thinking and—” Hwanwoong holds on tighter—a second, then lets go and sighs, shaky and almost choked up. “I don’t like it—I don’t like seeing you like—” He breathes in, lets go of one of Seoho’s arms to press against his eyes, under his glasses—Seoho simple watches, confused and almost guilty.

Hwanwoong’s almost crying—breathing a little out of control and emotional and Seoho knows—knows it’s his fault—knows Hwanwoong’s worried and angry and—

“I don’t like seeing you like this” Hwanwoong drops his hand, eyes red and glassy but still glaring at Seoho’s. “But I can’t—help and I’m frustrated and—”

“Hwanwoong—”

“And—” He speaks a little louder, cuts Seoho off. “You’re stupid—you’re always stupid but I don’t—don’t get why you can’t let _yourself_ —”

“Hwanwoong—hey” Hwanwoong stops—lets Seoho talk, get a little closer, run a hand through his bangs and sigh quietly. “I’m sorry”

“Don’t—don’t apologize to _me”_ Seoho swallows, pulls his hand away. “Apologize to—I don’t know, not me, this isn’t _me_ , hyung”

“I’m—I promise I’m… not thinking negatively? I’m trying”

“Let yourself be happy, hyung” Hwanwoong falls a little forward, scrunches up his nose—sniffles against his sleeve and rubs at his eyes again. “You told me the same—with Dongju, when I told you—you told me to just be happy” He lowers his hand, looks weak (even though Seoho knows he’s anything but) as he lets himself drop against Seoho’s shoulder—breathing ragged and grip on cloth tight and shaky. “Why can’t you—why wouldn’t you deserve the same?”

Seoho swallows—feels his own breathing stuck in his throat and exhales.

He brings his hands up—pulls Hwanwoong closer—until they’re awkwardly hugging and Seoho’s hands are on Hwanwoong’s back and everything feels like it’s _shaking_.

“I’m trying—” He breathes in—out against Hwanwoong’s hair. He grips onto his shirt, lets Hwanwoong grip on the front of Seoho’s, tight and nervous and—

Upset—angry and upset and Seoho hates that it’s not even against _him—_ it’s against himself.

“I want to try, just—I’m just scared” He brings Hwanwoong closer, stops him from looking up and talking—runs a hand through the back of his hair. Seoho feels like he’s choking, but he wants to talk—wants to let things out and—

Make them real, for once—again, make them real again and again until it all clicks and makes sense and he can understand—

“Scared of everything. Of—of losing him? Of messing it up and—” Hwanwoong hits against Seoho’s chest, shaky but strong enough to push Seoho back slightly—strong enough to hurt just a bit.

“You’re an idiot” Whispered against Seoho’s clothes—then Hwanwoong sits up, moves away rubbing at his eyes and all over his face. “You’re such an idiot, you—”

Seoho lets a laugh break out, confused and just a little _offended_ , even if Hwanwoong’s right. “Why?”

“You—” Hwanwoong makes a noise of frustration, throws what he can of the blankets against Seoho’s front with teary eyes. “Because you _are—_ you’re so dense and put yourself so low and never—never seem to even think about how things are for _you_ and—” He lets out a noise again, rubs at his eyes and sniffles loudly. “And you—you’re so likeable and Youngjo-hyung —”

Hwanwoong stops, Seoho waits a second— gives Hwanwoong a smile, pushes the blanket off himself and somewhere over his laptop. “Youngjo-hyung…?”

“He really likes you” Hwanwoong looks away, at some point on the floor. “Anyone can see that” His voice is quiet, but sure, as if there’s just no way he could be wrong.

Seoho tries to breathe—focus on taking air in and letting it out—focus on anything but spinning thoughts and _he really likes you_.

He leans forward to flick at Hwanwoong’s face weakly, breathing unstable and eyes burning. “I promise—I promise I’m really trying. Trying to… think about things and just” He pats Hwanwoong’s head, smiles a little again. “Think about me—I promise”

Hwanwoong huffs, pushes Seoho’s hand away to jump back into a hug— holds him close, Seoho’s face stuck against Hwanwoong’s neck.

Seoho breathes out a laugh—doesn’t push away, lets himself rest against Hwanwoong and breathe.

————

Between a thousand assignments— reports and finals to take, it’s already Thursday in the blink of an eye. Seoho hasn’t really texted with Youngjo lately—not since Sunday, since running from his house and getting a text that said _thank u 4 coming over_ that somehow didn’t feel like Youngjo at all— but he tries to reason it’s maybe because school is destroying him and not because they’re both very evidently avoiding each other.

Seoho hasn’t texted first—but he usually didn’t have to, usually Youngjo would keep it going or text him something random about class or cats or even Geonhak—and then Seoho would reply, ask some stupid question—and then the conversation never seemed to end and—

But there’s been none of that this week—Seoho hates it, he misses it, misses Youngjo—misses talking to him and asking him weird questions about what it’s like to be a catboy at 3am and—

He’d just come out of singing classes—figured he’d head straight home because no sleep the night prior and the exam in the morning had exhausted him—but then he ended up standing outside of Geonhak’s workplace, head confused and about to fall asleep where he’s standing.

The bookstore seems peaceful—fairly empty in the late afternoon, at least through the window Seoho’s peeking through, definitely not looking weird.

Geonhak doesn’t seem to be in yet—Seoho sighs, brings his phone out of his jacket pocket, stares at his black screen for a few seconds.

Even if he were—what would he even do—what would he even say to him? _Sorry for almost kissing your roommate_? _Sorry for ruining your roommate’s life with my presence_?

He groans loudly, runs a hand through his hair—the dye’s fading away already, has turned into pale mint and pink he hasn’t bothered maintaining— turns around to leave and go wallow in some self-pity at home.

He’s taken a step when he stops, eyes on a fluffy light brown-blond cat that looks like it hates him.

Seoho takes another step, the cat tenses up—ears pointing up and tail fluffed.

Oh—Geonhak.

Seoho steps forward again, tries to smile at the cat—Geonhak (?), though, very much does not look like he hates Seoho any less—in fact, seems ready to jump at his face any second. He sighs, steps a little closer, finds some relief in Geonhak (unconfirmed) not running away up into the roofs where Seoho can’t reach.

He drops to crouch down on the sidewalk a metre or so away, reaches a hand towards Geonhak (most likely), still trying for a soft smile. “Geonhak, right?”

Geonhak (now confirmed) hisses at him, Seoho pouts, reaches out his other hand. “Hey— You haven’t left yet, so—will you” He drops both hands on the sidewalk, ignores the few glances he can feel from people passing by that see him chatting with an angry-looking cat. “listen to me?”

Geonhak doesn’t leave, but he doesn’t do anything to show he’s listening either—just sits there with his tail fluffed up and his ears twitching.

Seoho figures this is the best he’s going to get.

“I’m not gonna apologize to you, ‘cause you’re not mad at me for—for your own sake, right?” Geonhak meows, licks at his paw and cleans the fur of his face. Seoho laughs a little, leans a little forward, lets his arms hand over his knees now. “I’m just—I don’t know if to text Youngjo-hyung, and I’m thinking a lot—I don’t—” He breathes, licks his lips “wanna say things wrong” He frowns, looks at the pavement.

He’s talking to Geonhak, yeah, but because Geonhak right now just looks like any cat Seoho just… feels like he’s talking to no one, to himself—finds himself spilling more than he meant to in the middle of the street, eyes hurting and body tense.

Somehow, he manages to keep smiling—manages to breathe correctly.

“If—if it’s okay, tell him I want to see him on Saturday, still—I still want him to go.” He looks up, laughs a little when he sees Geonhak now sitting almost flat over the floor, ears less tense and tail swishing peacefully from side to side. “I don’t know if I can see him earlier, so—on Saturday? You can go too, if you want”

He drops on his knees, moves a little forward—Geonhak’s ears follow his movements, but there’s nothing else, so Seoho moves a hand closer, stops it by Geonhak’s face.

Geonhak looks at him a second— sniffs at his fingers, then goes back to sitting flat against the floor, now with his eyes closed.

Seoho takes that as an okay, softly pets Geonhak’s head a couple of time—Geonhak doesn’t move away.

Seoho smiles. “Well, we haven’t really talked much—I only ever bother you at work, but if you want to come with Youngjo-hyung—”

Geonhak yawns—lets out a quiet and deep meow. Seoho laughs to himself.

“Tell him to come by, yeah? Even if it’s just for a little—I wanna talk, just” He places his hands over his knees, watches the way Geonhak’s nose twitches. “Sorry for being a coward— talking like this and all”

His voice is quiet—almost just to himself, a little far away from the world.

“I’m not very good at this, but—” He runs a hand through his hair—feels icy wind at his ears and wonders why he didn’t grab a beanie before he left home earlier. “I’m trying—however I can, I promise that”

————

Friday finds him staying until late evening in dance practice, Changmin making sure everything was perfected before the show tomorrow— they’re still going to practice all morning, probably, but still. He doesn’t have work or class that day, finals having finished that morning, but, as tired as he is, he doesn’t head home directly.

Instead, some shopping later, he finds himself at Keonhee’s door at about 7pm—he hadn’t really told him in advance he’d show up, only texted him _im heading over rn btw hope ure home :D_ about 10 minutes prior. He had yet to receive a reply, but he’s sure he knows Keonhee’s schedule well enough—he only works in the mornings and afternoons, and his finals finished before Seoho’s, so, unless Keonhee had decided to go out, he’d be home.

Seoho really hopes he’d be home—Keonhee was social, liked being outside and seeing people, so this was a gamble he was _really_ hoping to win.

He rings the bell, opting to not call Keonhee and make the nerves crawling up his throat _worse_. It takes a few seconds—Seoho awkwardly running his hands through his hair and leaning back and front of his feet—and then the door opens, Hyunjae peeking out with a smile.

“Seoho-hyung?” He lets the door open further, takes a step back and motions for Seoho to come in. Seoho gives him a smile and a wave, walks into the small apartment. “Keonhee’s in our room—I guess that’s who you’re here for? Though he didn’t mention you were coming over…”

“I texted him, like, 10 minutes ago? Surprise visit—also, thank you Hyunj—Jaehyun”

“Hyunjae’s fine” Seoho gives him a quiet _oh_ , then another smile.

“Hyunjae—sorry for ruining your shirt last time, but… can I have it again? Just to not ruin another one” Hyunjae blinks, then shrugs nonchalantly.

“I lent it to you and all, don’t worry” He walks towards Seoho, steps light towards the hallway and into his and Keonhee’s room—Seoho follows. Hyunjae knocks on the door, waits a second before talking again. “I think it’s somewhere on the floor still”

“It’s been like two weeks” Hyunjae shrugs, opens the door.

“Eh” He walks inside—heads straight towards his bed and looks around. Keonhee’s watching a drama (probably) on his desk, pays them no attention—seems to be extremely focused and dead set on ignoring his loud roommates.

Which—Seoho thinks—is fair, their apartment is _loud._

He walks towards Keonhee’s desk, pokes at his shoulder—pokes a good ten times before Keonhee whines, pauses the drama and takes off his earphones to turn around and look at Seoho.

Keonhee stops—seems to swallow words back down, looks up at Seoho with clear confusion.

“What”

“Hello to you too” Seoho smiles at him, pats at his bag slung over his shoulder. “Help me out with my hair again?”

Keonhee sighs, glances at his laptop screen once—then quickly shuts it and gets up to stretch. “You owe me more food” He gives Seoho a pout, Seoho returns a smile and a nod.

“’kay”

————

“What did you wanna talk about?” Keonhee only asks once the dye is all over Seoho’s hair, alarm on his phone set over the bathroom counter and gloves stained dark violet. Seoho blinks at him—widens his eyes and lets his lips fall open in mock astonishment.

“Why do you think I want to talk?” Keonhee huffs out a laugh—amused, then walks to drop down and sit right in front of Seoho on the floor. Seoho looks down at him, smile crooked and head cocked to the side slightly.

“You always do this—ask some weird favour and then stay oddly quiet—whenever you have stuff in mind, hyung” Seoho’s smile widens—and then he laughs, hand over his mouth and careful not to have his hair fall and stain his face. Keonhee looks up at him with an almost frown, hands hovering over the floor and awkward. “Hey”

“Sorry—” Seoho snickers some more, lowers his hand and catches his breath. “You’re right, yeah, just—” He shrugs, drops his hands on his lap—taps his fingers to some unknown rhythm. “Dunno how to say it, wait”

“Feelings, maybe?” Keonhee pulls off the gloves slowly, throws them over to the sink—lets out a little _yay_ when they land inside and not somewhere staining the counter. Seoho snorts, scratches at the corner of his eye.

“Maybe” Keonhee looks at him, unamused—Seoho laughs again, drops his hands. “Definitely?”

Keonhee nods at that, leans back on his hands and gives Seoho a smile. “What about them?”

“I told you I didn’t know anything, remember? That I didn’t understand—and just, well, didn’t know?”

Keonhee nods again, looks up at Seoho earnestly, head a little to the side—he’s quiet, letting Seoho ramble on about whatever.

Seoho’s glad— more than anything, he just needs to ramble, feel listened to—needs to put things out to the world to somehow make them _real_.

“I’ve—I ended up talking to Dongju, to Hwanwoong, too—because I” Seoho pauses, breathes in, breaks eye contact to look at the floor—blinks a couple of times. “I was with Youngjo-hyung—the guy I like a lot, well, the guy I have a crush on?”

Keonhee hums at him, a quiet reply—Seoho feels himself smiling.

“Yeah, that—that’s accurate, so— I was with my crush, yeah? We were at his house and—well, I just wanted to kiss him? Like, suddenly, I nearly—” Seoho lets his eyes close, breathes in—takes a second, covers his face with the back of his hand. “kissed…him, and, well—just ended up then thinking a lot, yeah? It was on Sunday and I was already thinking a lot and— Dongju got really mad at me and—then him and Hwanwoong kept calling me dense because I—” He stops again, opens his eyes and frowns. “Ran away? And then his roommate was angry—I think he’s still angry at me and—”

He stops again, tries to sort his thoughts—makes eye contact with Keonhee for a second, then breaks away to stare at some spot on the wall off to his side. “I… think I want to tell him—even if—even if it’s scary? Hwanwoong said I’m stupid and Dongju said to figure it out myself and—and I don’t know, I really _am_ stupid with this and I just—don’t think he likes me back but—”

Keonhee pats his leg softly—reassurance. Seoho takes a moment, again, catches his breath.

“But—it’s better to try, right? Better to try than—than to give up just like that? So—so maybe I’ll take my chances and—” He stops again, rubs at the corner of his eye, scratches at his cheek—makes a weird motion with his other hand in the air. “Try…? Try to just—be a little selfish and if—if things go wrong, then—” His breath hitches—he feels his eyes sting and his throat close up—

He pushes out air—exhales shakily.

“I don’t—don’t know what I’ll do” He laughs—shaky and high-pitched. “But I think—I think I want to try?” His voice goes higher-pitched at the end, also goes down in volume— he keeps his eyes on the wall, the floor, not on Keonhee.

“Trying is good, hyung” Keonhee leans forward, pats both of Seoho’s legs in front of him and smiles. “You’ve really done a lot of thinking, huh?”

Seoho shrugs, laughs a little again. “I guess?”

“I’m proud of you” Seoho chokes up again—forces out a laugh and covers his face as much as he can. Keonhee laughs, too, leans his weight on Seoho’s legs to stand up.

“Shut up”

Keonhee laughs—goes to his phone to check the time. Seoho follows with his eyes, still hiding behind his hands.

“It’s cute, though, that you have a crush” Seoho snorts, turns back to look at the wall—hearts rustling, hears water running as Keonhee washes the gloves carefully. “Really thought you didn’t have that in you”

“Thanks” Seoho laughs—loudly and a little teary, Keonhee doesn’t comment, only hums as he closes the tap and dries his hands.

“Why were they calling you dense for running away, though?” The alarm rings then, Keonhee turns it off, motions to Seoho to get by the shower.

Seoho shrugs, pulls the chair and towel carefully until they’re where the showerhead can reach. “’Cause I don’t think he likes me back, I guess?”

Keonhee hums, turns on the water—checks the temperature as he talks and pushes Seoho’s head back. “Why, though?”

Seoho squints—scrunches his nose up at him, crosses his arms over his chest a second—then lets them fall off both sides of the chair and closes his eyes, head thrown back. “They say it’s obvious he likes me—he keeps flirting and stuff, but—”

“But he couldn’t possibly like you back” Keonhee’s hand is kind against his scalp, the water just warm enough to burn a little while still feeling soothing. Seoho hums an agreement, Keonhee laughs—short and sharp.

“What?”

“He’s flirting” He sprays Seoho’s hair carefully—lightly rubs and scratches at his scalp with care. “Didn’t he invite you over to his house, too, because he missed you?”

“That doesn’t mean—” Keonhee cuts him off—sprays Seoho’s face with the showerhead. Seoho splutters, throws himself a little back and then forward, rubs at his face and gets purple all over the place. “ _Keonhee?”_

“ _That doesn’t mean anything_ ” Keonhee’s voice is pitched higher—a little mocking and exasperated. He sprays water against the back of Seoho’s neck on purpose, then goes back to properly washing his hair, pushes Seoho’s head back again— his voice lilted with laughter. “Okay, hyung, what else is there?”

Seoho huffs, rubs at his eyes and forehead. “How did you even know he invited me over—”

Keonhee shrugs. “Dongju” Seoho rolls his eyes, half closed, smacks at Keonhee’s arm. Keonhee laughs again. “Tell me, though, what else?”

“Don’t you know already?” Keonhee hums, amused—pushes Seoho’s head forward now, to get to his back a little more easily.

“No”

“Fine” Seoho sighs, lets his eyes close. “He said I’m pretty—that he likes me, that I’m his type, that he just—wanted to spend time with me, but—”

Keonhee sighs, ruffles at Seoho’s wet hair with something that might be annoyance. “ _Doesn’t mean anything_ , huh”

“Doesn’t necessarily—”

“Hyung—” Keonhee gets shampoo— lathers it over Seoho’s hair a little roughly. “You really _are_ dense”

Seoho whines, hits in Keonhee’s general direction with his eyes closed—laughs when he hits the other’s arm and manages to get water all over both of them. “Thanks”

Keonhee whines, jumps back and gets more water on Seoho and on himself— Seoho laughs, lets Keonhee roughly finish washing his hair while complaining about his clothes being wet, everything being we, _hyung, we’re so gonna catch a cold and_ you _have a show tomorrow and—_

Once he’s done, he gets a dry towel, drapes it over Seoho’s hair—lets Seoho ruffle at it to dry up.

“I think he likes you” Keonhee comes back to the bathroom with a change of clothes, throws them on the counter for Seoho to take—he has a towel draped over himself now, too, drying up. “Sounds like he likes you—to me, at least”

Seoho lowers the towel, looks at the purple stains—at purple tinted water dripping over it and his hands.

He blinks, shrugs—Keonhee sighs. “Just get changed, yeah? You’re gonna catch a cold”

Seoho blinks again— looks up at Keonhee and laughs a little.

“’kaay!”

————

Even though they finish early, Seoho ends up sleeping over—Keonhee’s place is closer to the dance studio, anyway, and he wasn’t feeling up to the challenge of walking back home on his own and doubting his choice to confess.

He crashes at Keonhee’s bed, kicks the other to sleep on the floor with all the love in his heart—and then they end up talking until early hours of the morning, Keonhee half-asleep and mumbling, Seoho’s brain going a thousand kilometres a second and Hyunjae throwing a pillow at them (at Keonhee, really, because Hyunjae’s younger than Seoho and still more or less respectful of his elders—but then Keonhee throws it at Seoho, so).

They talk about Youngjo—about his cat Ravn (Seoho doesn’t tell Keonhee that the cat _is_ Youngjo—Youngjo seemed to hide it, maybe didn’t want people knowing, and Seoho wasn’t going to break his trust, even if he trusted Keonhee with his life and wouldn’t admit it), about the letter and package on Seoho’s window (Keonhee sits up at that, eyes wide as he looks at Seoho and asks him _what the hell, hyung_ —even Hyunjae reacts at that, looking at them from his bed, asks if Seoho wasn’t freaked out—

Seoho wasn’t, so he shrugs and shakes his head—

“It was cute? And nothing dangerous”

“What if it was a stalker or— something like that?” Keonhee’s eyes are worried, kind over Seoho.

“Nah” Seoho plays a little with his hair— gets purple on his nails and fingertips. “Didn’t feel like it? And it turned out fine, so”

“You’re nuts” Hyunjae joins in from his bed, hands on his phone—half focused on some phone game he had gotten hooked on lately—Seoho snorts, rolls his shoulders back.

“I can defend myself, anyway—Plus, like, a stalker would’ve just thrown stuff at my door or something, dunno, I trust my intuition?”

Keonhee makes a noise at that, freaked out and frustrated.

“Please don’t do this again” Keonhee looks serious, hands over the mattress and next to Seoho’s knees.

Seoho laughs—covers his face as Keonhee whines that _hyung, you worry me, I’m serious_ —

Seoho promises he won’t let this happen again—really, he doesn’t anything like this _could_ happen again, so)—

They talk about the letters after the package—about Youngjo and the first time Seoho had met up with him, about how he seemed as sure of himself as he was awkward—

They talk about Youngjo’s interest in music—about his compositions he’s shown Seoho one or two times with nervous messages at midnight—about his rapping, about his inner world reflected in lyrics he writes again and again—

They talk about Seoho’s crush—about realizations and about _whys_ —

(“You’ve never had a crush before” Keonhee points it out, head over a pillow on the floor and under a blanket—Seoho makes a noise at that, reaches over the edge of the bed to pull at Keonhee’s arm.

“I have” He speaks quietly, pulls Keonhee up—Keonhee lets him, ends up sitting on the bed next to him, cocks his head to the side in question.

“I never heard about it, then” Keonhee’s voice is a little whiny—as if asking _why didn’t I know_ —Seoho sighs, reaches for the pillow by the edge of the bed and pulls it up.

“Never told anyone about them—think only Hwanwoong knew, maybe?” He throws the pillow back, lets himself drop face-up and close to the wall.

“Why?” Keonhee drops as well, on his side and next to Seoho—head resting on the same pillow as before, but now over the bed. Seoho inhales—waits some seconds before his eyes fall closed and he sighs.

“Didn’t wanna dwell on them, I guess?” He opens his eyes, focuses on some spot on the ceiling— then lets his eyes lose focus and look at nothing. “Never went anywhere and faded fast, too”

“Why’s it different this time, then?” Keonhee’s sleepy, eyes falling closed and limbs relaxed.

Seoho hums—lifts an arm to throw it over his face. “Don’t know”

Keonhee laughs quietly, scoots a little closer to Seoho, until he’s cuddling against his side and warm—

Seoho, for once, lets him.

“Whipped”)—

Keonhee’s long asleep by the time Seoho’s brain stops turning, but Seoho doesn’t mind—talking has exhausted him, enough to make him fall asleep before 5am for the first time in a while, so his thoughts aren’t quite as loud, quite as doubting and nervous as usual—

He dozes off with his face against Keonhee’s hair—warm and ticklish and feeling a little closer to peace.

————

Last-minute practice to make sure everything is in order starts at 9am—Seoho’s not sure how, but he makes it in one piece, eyes and limbs heavy from lack of sleep (nothing new, but bothersome all the same—he makes sure to splash cold water on his face before heading into the practice room, not ready to face Hwanwoong or Changmin when everything feels like it’s about to fall and give up).

When he enters the practice room, he’s greeted by Juyeon, who’s sitting on the floor by the door, his boyfriend asleep against his shoulder—

It’s the first time Seoho sees the guy—quite the first impression, he must say. He gives Juyeon a quiet greeting, Juyeon returns it with a smile, gestures towards the other side of the room, where Changmin is mulling over something and looking sharply at the mirror.

Seoho sighs, spares a glance around the room to look for Hwanwoong— he’s not there, probably in another room trying to focus. Seoho shrugs, waves a _bye_ at Juyeon and his sleeping beauty, walks up to Changmin and readies himself from practice until the sun falls.

He ignores the way his heart feels a little too tight on his chest—ignores the way his breathing is out of control and his thoughts fly back to Youngjo over and over again—ignores the way the choreography flows naturally but his thoughts take him back to Youngjo instead—

He gets yelled at by Changmin a few times—not for getting it wrong, never, but for being so out of it he ends up a beat too fast and then too tense—

Seoho bites his lip, runs a hand through his hair—

 _It’s okay_ he breathes—gets in starting position again— _Things will be okay._

————

Before he knows it, it’s 2pm and he’s eating a light lunch with Hwanwoong—who seems about ready to burst into flames and break the skin under his lip in stress. Seoho has to stop him from biting so much, ends up sitting next to him on the floor against the practice room wall, hands kind on his hair and voice soothing laughter.

They stay like that until it’s 2:30—and then they’re up, running to finish touching up and getting ready—

It starts at 4pm—there’s time, even after makeup and setting up everything on stage, so now they’re just waiting backstage, nervous hushes and whispers and laughter to cover up anxieties.

Hwanwoong’s turn is by the end—Seoho and Changmin being up at around the middle— the whole thing is about an hour long, give or take a few minutes, with introductions and whatnot—so they’re up in maybe 30 minutes, if not 40, and Hwanwoong’s up in about an hour or a little less.

They’re sitting on a bench, shoulders bumping and Hwanwoong practically bouncing on his seat—hands hitting at his own neck before he sighs and seems to calm down, only to start it all over again.

Seoho finds it cute—even if it’s setting _his_ nerves on edge a little, not even for himself, but for Hwanwoong.

Eventually, the little curtain by the entrance moves aside—and in steps Dongju, looking a little breathless and tired. He lights up when he spots Hwanwoong, even if Hwanwoong himself is way too focused on _what the fuck am I going to do_ and _can I even do this right_ against his fingernails to even notice him come in. Seoho motions Dongju over, gives Hwanwoong’s thigh a little pat so he looks up—Hwanwoong jumps a little, quickly looks at Seoho before he spots Dongju.

And then he’s jumping on his seat, and Dongju’s offering him candy he seemed to have in his pocket—and he’s kneeling on the floor in front of Hwanwoong and whispering something—and Seoho takes that as his cue to leave, let the couple have their sweet reassuring moment or whatever.

He figures he can head outside—get some air before everything properly starts and he can’t get time to himself. He walks by Changmin, gives him a wave—lets him know he’s gonna be outside a bit, to call him if he takes too long. Changmin nods, gives him an _okay_.

Seoho steps past the little curtain, finds the backdoor of the place and heads outside—it’s still early, so the sun is very much still out, even if it’s freezing cold and Seoho feels stupidly underdressed in just a jacket and his stage clothes, as comfy as they are.

He doesn’t really wander off too much, opts to stay by the building, ends up walking to peek at the front entrance—sees people walk by and enter. There are not many people, really, it’s a small showcase and it’s mostly friends and family members—nothing fancy and nothing too out there, even if a few dance coaches or whatever else seemed to be included in the audience.

He doesn’t know what he expects, walking all the way there and not—but it’s definitely not to spot Youngjo and Geonhak by the door, Geonhak very much looking like a sour lemon and Youngjo with an easy smile. He sees Youngjo twitch a little in place, leaning against the wall as he is—then sees his eyes search around the place and his usual beanie twitch in this and that direction. Geonhak’s twitches as well, eyes careful on Youngjo before they both spot Seoho close-by.

Seoho waves at them, Geonhak waves back. Youngjo only stares, takes a moment where he swallows—looks up at Geonhak and seems to say something before he looks back at Seoho, eyes a little scared even if he looks confident, and gives him a wave before quickly walking over to him.

Seoho kind of wants to run—but he also doesn’t want to, refuses to.

So, he stays, smiles when Youngjo stops in front of him.

There’s a second of silence—Seoho feels Geonhak’s stare boring at him, feels the air awkward and heavy—feels tension he doesn’t like and feels himself awkward under Youngjo’s careful gaze.

There’s another second, quiet—Seoho feels the winter air against his skin, feels his hair tickle at his eyes and feels himself shiver when Youngjo’s eyes stay up—on his hair, curious.

One, two, three—and then Seoho breathes in and chokes on a laugh, brings a hand up to cover his mouth as Youngjo smiles, confused—eventually laughs as well, hands in his pocket and everything about him _soft_.

He stops feeling Geonhak’s stare— fully focuses on the air, on tension that’s breaking down and on the chime of Youngjo’s laugh—sweet and maybe one of his favourite sounds.

Youngjo speaks up first—voice lilted with laughter and one hand scratching at the side of his neck. “You—You dyed your hair again”

Seoho doesn’t lower his hand—lets another bout of high-pitched laughter leave his lips before he replies. “Yeah” He takes a second, then lowers his hand, lets it hover in the air between them. “Other colour was fading so, yesterday—for the showcase and all”

Youngjo gives him another laugh—one that’s soft and reaches his eyes, and Seoho doesn’t know if to love or hate how much he _missed it_ —even if it was just a week or less, he missed it, he missed _Youngjo_.

“It looks good” Youngjo reaches up—hovers by the front of Seoho’s face by his bangs a little nervously. Seoho blinks, lets his hand fall next to him and smiles.

“Thank you”

“Why purple?” Youngjo’s hand starts to fall away—Seoho breathes out, shrugs and leans his head _just_ a little closer—enough that the tips of Youngjo’s fingers brush against his bangs before Youngjo’s hand falls back in his pocket.

“It—” Seoho straightens up, looks at the side, then back at Youngjo—giggles quietly and pushes his bangs back a little. “Reminded me of you, so”

Youngjo’s beanie perks up at that—eyes wide and blinking at Seoho. “Oh”

Seoho smiles—a little more confident, or at least trying to be, gives a nonchalant shrug. “So—um, happy you like it? Yeah” He laughs again.

There’s half a second of silence—half a second where Seoho feels like he’s going to _die_ —but then Youngjo laughs, awkward and taken aback, eyes closed and shoulders shaking.

He lifts a hand up again, this time runs it softly through Seoho’s hair for a second before he pulls away. “Makes me happy, too”

Youngjo’s smile is sure—a little embarrassed but still unwavering, Seoho sort of envies that ability of his—his own composure falling chipping and falling apart every second, new laughter bubbling up and out his throat.

He’s trying to figure out what to say—trying to find words stuck at the back of his throat—but then his phone buzzes in his pocket, and it’s loud against the air and against his senses. He lets out a yelp, makes Youngjo laugh—he tries to hide it behind his arm, but Seoho sees anyway, sticks his tongue out as he takes out his phone.

It’s Changmin—asking him to head back already, wants to look over some things, time seems to have just flown by. Seoho sighs, shows his phone screen to Youngjo with a tired smile.

“Gotta go” He turns off his screen, shoves his phone back in his pocket. “Hope you—uh, enjoy the show”

Youngjo nods—seems to hesitate a second before he reaches for Seoho’s arm—immediately lets go and gives him an apologetic smile.

“For good luck, can I” He takes a breath, Seoho gives him a curious look. “do something? Small, feel free to push me off, too”

Seoho’s brain turns—gears overheating and senses alert.

He nods—doesn’t really know what to expect.

Youngjo smiles, kind and careful, then reaches for the back of Seoho’s head and pulls him closer—leans up to place a barely there kiss to his cheek.

It’s a brush of his lips—a light peck, nothing else, but Seoho feels like his face is on fire.

Somehow, he manages to stay still—only lets out an undignified noise of surprise that Youngjo laughs at while pulling back—even snorts a little while he laughs, covers his face with the back of his hand and arm.

Seoho blinks—runs a hand through his cheek and back to his hair.

“For good luck” Youngjo’s voice is muffled against his sleeve— he clears his throat, looks away a second. “I’m sure you’ll do great, anyway, but—”

Seoho laughs a little—lets his hand rest against his cheek for a fleeting second. “Thanks”

Youngjo’s arm drops—and he’s smiling at Seoho, eyes back on his, and Seoho’s breath is coming a little _too_ fast and he’s not sure if it’s just from nerves or—

“I gotta go but I’ll—I’ll see you later, yeah? Thank you—um” Seoho swallows, focuses on steadying his breathing “For coming and for—yeah” He laughs, Youngjo blinks at him—still smiling and still looking so—

So _soft—_ still looking at Seoho like he’s the most precious person in the world and—

“See you later” Youngjo smiles, waves at him as Seoho starts to walk towards the back again—heart in his throat and eyes burning burning _burning._

————

Despite his head being a mess, and Changmin nearly kicking his ass right before their turn because Seoho was way too distracted, the showcase goes off without a problem—Seoho’s mind seems to clear on stage, like always, seems to leave behind worries and fill him with clarity only the burn of the stage lights seem to grant—

It’s as soothing as it’s stressful and, when it’s over, Seoho finds his breath catching in his throat and his eyes clear—finds himself giddy and nervous, hands shaking as he steps backstage again, watches Hwanwoong mess up his hair for the hundredth time before he goes up.

The whole show’s over in the blink of an eye—Hwanwoong’s solo earning praises as soon as he finishes—loud applause and yelling that might’ve been Dongmyeong and company’s from the crowd. Hwanwoong’s sweaty—looks happy and _relaxed_ for once in his life as he bows and heads back down, lets Dongju run up to him and kiss him with a soft laugh.

Seoho pats him on the head, lets Dongju hug him too—lets himself be taken by a blur of congratulations and praise.

It’s nice.

Losing track of things happening—mind a little floaty still, spotlight burning at the back of his eyes—he finds himself standing right outside the front door, family and friends loud around him and warm in their praise.

He’s right—Dongmyeong’s there, seems to have dragged his whole band along with him. Dongju’s also there, and Seoho spots Youngjo and Geonhak somewhere in the small dissipating crowd of people.

He wants to reach out—wants to talk to Youngjo and drag him somewhere quiet, but then Juyeon’s calling Hwanwoong and him aside, happily lets Keonhee and Hyunjae chat their ears off—and Seoho didn’t even realize Juyeon and Hyunjae _knew_ each other, but the world is small, and his friend circle is always a mess that clashes where he least expects it, so he doesn’t ask.

Chanhee shows up dragging Changmin later, happy when he hugs Hwanwoong and gives Seoho a kind smile—

It’s loud and everything happens fast—and people come and go before Seoho can fully process that he’s even tired or that anything’s happening—

“Seoho?” Youngjo’s voice breaks him out of his slight daze, brings him back to reality—he turns to him with a smile, gives an awkward half-wave. Geonhak’s standing by Youngjo, also gives Seoho and company a wave and a quiet and awkward _hi_ that’s almost lost to the air.

Seoho pulls them in—to the group, lets introductions fall easy from his lips, finds out Yonghoon and Youngjo already knew each other, finds out Geonhak and Giwook work on music together a lot—his friend groups (sort of, anyway—he’s pretty sure he’s not really _friends_ with half the people there, but they’re all friends of friends, so he groups them all as _friends_ without giving it much thought) mixing together again in unexpected ways—

At the very least, he finds it makes the air easy, no tension as they chat away—praise and congratulate them and talk about going somewhere, maybe to eat, since the sun isn’t gone yet—since it’s early and there’s time—

Seoho appreciates it, really—would love to spend some more time with everyone if he wasn’t so tired and he didn’t want to drag Youngjo away to a hidden corner to talk before he finds himself running away like he always has.

He’s awkward in saying no, apologizes over and over—pulls Youngjo back by the sleeve when he mentions he could leave, then—Hwanwoong glances at him from the corner of his eye, standing next to him, then sighs, pulls at Dongju’s arm to whisper something in his ear that Seoho does _not_ want to know the level of spiciness of. Hwanwoong then holds Dongju’s hand easily, excuses the both of them as well with a smile that Dongmyeong looks ready to punch off his face as he whines about _not_ _wanting to know about his brother’s sex life_ — Giwook gags at that, comments that _no one was even thinking about_ sex _before this, my god_ and then he’s leaving with Geonhak and basically everyone else to grab something to eat and cleanse of mental images or whatever else.

Yonghoon invites Youngjo along, but Youngjo says no politely, hands in his pockets and Seoho awkwardly standing across from him—Yonghoon gives both of them a smile then, kindly waves bye after ruffling Youngjo’s hair.

And then it’s just the two of them—Seoho and Youngjo, and Seoho’s heart is burning and quick in his chest.

He’s not really sure what to do—has never been good at serious conversations, at serious moods and at feelings—his hands are sweaty and his whole face is burning and words just won’t _come out_ —

“Do you—” Youngjo’s voice seems almost loud, breaks the tension and awkward silence Seoho seemed to be drowning in “wanna take a walk, maybe?”

Seoho nods, runs a hand through his hair and breathes. “Sure, yeah, that’d be cool—nice, I mean”

Youngjo laughs, soft and easy, and then he steps forward, pulls at Seoho’s sleeve so he follows.

The wind’s picked up a little, but not too much, only slightly itches and scratches at Seoho’s face as he follows Youngjo’s pace. Youngjo walks sure of himself, even if there doesn’t seem to be a goal he has in mind quite yet—he points out a few stores, points out parks and places they walk by—his beanie moves along with his hands, twitches towards Seoho countless times.

Seoho finds it easier to breathe—turns the next corner and laughs along to whatever Youngjo’s telling him—something about accidentally ending up inside a store, rooftops and places way too confusing when you’re a cat—something about getting the place wrong when meaning to go wait for Geonhak.

Youngjo frowns, half-glares at Seoho playfully. “It was scary—I got kicked out so aggressively”

Seoho pats him on the arm, snickers quietly even so under his other hand. “That bad?”

Youngjo nods, stops to wait for the traffic light to change, turns to look at Seoho—straight at his eyes, gaze as careful as it is loving and serious. “They sprayed water at me”

The traffic light changes to green, Seoho steps forward first— laughing as he glances back at Youngjo. “Water, how _scary_ ”

They get to the other side, Youngjo shoves at him playfully—walks faster so he’s the one forward again. Seoho lets him, Youngjo’s pace easy to fall into and easy to follow.

They walk—walk until the sun’s already gone down, all the while talking about anything unimportant and fading—chat until they make it to a park. There are families around, people here and there on dates and whatnot—the place isn’t full, but it’s not empty either, is a little loud to Seoho’s ears.

They walk through people, avoid children that run and nearly bump into them—make it past the park—walk a little further until they’re by some corner that’s somehow void of people.

There are no benches, the sidewalk is thin and worn out, the grass is a little dry even past how humid everything is this time of the year, and the trees are falling apart with winter—but it’s peaceful enough.

The noises of people and the city drown out into a mist at the back of their minds—and then Youngjo turns to look at Seoho properly, smiles a little and shrugs.

“Is this place okay?” Youngjo’s voice is careful, as if anything could scare Seoho off.

Which, really, isn’t far from the truth.

Seoho swallows, looks to the side and to the cracked sidewalk—then turns back to Youngjo and shrugs as well. “Yeah”

“Okay” Youngjo points at the floor, smile a little crooked and eyes nervous. “Wanna sit down, or—?”

“Yes—yeah, sure, okay” Youngjo laughs at his reply, pulls on Seoho’s arm so they both end up sitting over grass—it’s cold, seems to be getting colder as the night grows, but it’s okay—feels peaceful and comfortable—even when Seoho’s mind is turning, even when Youngjo’s hands are nervous over his legs, beanie twitching against the air and cute.

They stay in silence, Seoho’s eyes on the floor—on his hands as they play with and pull at grass blades that are a little dry. Youngjo’s got his legs pulled up a little, is drumming his fingers in some unknown rhythm against his pants—he glances at Seoho from time to time, but mostly stays looking out at nothing.

The silence isn’t…tense, it’s not uncomfortable—but Seoho needs to break it, needs to say things before it all escapes him _again_ and he’s left as a coward willing to lose everything if it means not taking any risks—

He breathes in, pulls at a blade of grass until it snaps in his hands—he doesn’t want to be a coward anymore, he doesn’t want to let this go—

He doesn’t want to give up his own happiness just because he was _scared_.

He exhales—looks up and finds Youngjo’s eyes looking at him.

 _Okay_ , he tries a smile—wonders why neither of them is wearing a mask today, of all days, when maybe hiding some emotions would be for the best.

 _Okay, yeah—_ he sighs, almost inaudible, looks down again to pick at another blade of grass as he speaks.

“I’m really—” He stops, breathes in, tries again “I’m really sorry about—about the other day, at your place”

Seoho risks looking up again—meets Youngjo’s eyes, tries to keep his gaze there. Youngjo doesn’t reply, lips set in a thin line that Seoho can’t read, ears under his beanie alert and a little tense.

Seoho licks his lips, blinks, runs a hand through his hair.

“I don’t know what came over me—”

“Oh” Youngjo’s ears fall under his beanie at that, eyes wide and a little pained.

Seoho doesn’t like it—doesn’t like it when Youngjo looks upset and doesn’t like that the words are all tumbling out of his mouth in a way he doesn’t _want_ them to—

But, if he stops, if he rewinds and turns back and starts over—if he thinks about it again and tries to find better words—if he does that, he knows he’s going to simply _stop_ , he’s going to dismiss everything and laugh it off and—

He exhales shakily, keeps going. “Like—I don’t know, I don’t usually—I don’t usually do that” He laughs a little, a sharp sound “I’ve never done that, really—but, just” He looks away, focuses on a blade of grass—doesn’t snap it or pull it off this time, flattens it against the rest, against the ground. “I think—I think I really like you”

Silence—a second. Seoho doesn’t dare look up, drives his hand flatter against grass—until the edges of blades tickle and scratch at his skin—he feels his breathing speed up, feels his heart in his chest like it’s trying to break out and feels his eyes burn and—

“You—” Youngjo’s voice is thin around the edges, shaking and unsure—Seoho can see his legs, can see the way he curls in on himself a little bit more, seems to shiver a little. “You think?”

Youngjo’s voice breaks at the last syllable—high-pitched in his throat before he breathes in sharply, nervous.

Seoho finds himself shaking—lets go of grass to run a hand through his hair again, scratch at the back of his neck—finally drops his hand over his crossed legs.

He breathes—takes a second.

“I think—” He shakes his head, blinks and stares at nothing. “No, I don’t think, I’m—I’m sure. I’m sure I like you and—”

Seoho’s head is spinning—spinning with thoughts and affections and apologies—spinning with guilt and selfishness and spinning with so much _Youngjo_ he thinks he might forget how to _breathe_.

“And—and I’m sorry—for almost kissing you, that’s—even if I like you that’s still—bad and, just—I’m sorry if it’s awkward or selfish and—”

“Seoho” Youngjo’s voice interrupts, brings Seoho out of his spiral and out of his musings—lands him back in reality, everything too loud and too bright in his eyes and senses. Youngjo sounds soft—Seoho musters some courage, looks up and meets his eyes.

And he sees Youngjo smiling—soft and a little nervous, hands now on the grass so he can lean towards Seoho.

“You’re going too fast” Youngjo’s voice is lilted with kind laughter as he turns—gets a little closer.

They’re facing each other now, Seoho’s eyes finding spots in the air to focus on so that he doesn’t have to keep looking at Youngjo—so he doesn’t end up overthinking glances and the affection in Youngjo’s eyes that is no doubt there and evident and so _loud—_

“You don’t have to apologize—not for almost kissing me” Seoho’s heart drops—a second, Youngjo moves his hand a little closer, breathes out quietly “or for liking me—especially for liking me— you don’t have to— there’s nothing to apologize for”

Seoho swallows, shrugs—feels his eyes burning and his breathing come up short—feels the cold air against his skin and wonders why he left his gloves at home and why it’s suddenly so _so_ much colder and why why _why_ his eyes are burning and he feels like he’s going to cry.

“I don’t—know why I even—I don’t know what I’m supposed to be saying and I can’t get my words to—to come out right and” His eyes meet Youngjo’s for a second, and then Seoho’s looking at some point in front of him, at a crease in Youngjo’s jacket—at the way it comes as Youngjo breathes, calm and everything Seoho wishes he could _be._

“I just—I just really like you, I like you a lot and—”

“You do?” Youngjo’s voice is a little teasing—a little warm as he settles even _closer_ to Seoho, hands almost over Seoho’s where they have dropped over dirt and messy grass.

Seoho doesn’t dare look up—nods and inhales shakily. “I do”

“That’s good” Youngjo’s voice is quiet—close and his breath is burning close to Seoho’s own. One of Youngjo’s hands moves forward—tip of his fingers brushing against Seoho’s, soft and careful. “Really good, actually”

“Good?” Seoho turns his hands, lets his palm face up—lets Youngjo’s fingers ghost over it.

“Mm-hm” Youngjo’s hand drops, stops moving, fingers over Seoho’s. Neither of them moves away. “I like you too, so”

Seoho blinks, feels a shiver and feels a knot in his throat unwind—feels air reach his lungs again and feels a whirlwind in his thoughts trying to make sense of things—

He laughs—high-pitched and quiet, finally looks up a little—and it’s Youngjo that catches his eyes this time, smile soft and eyes holding so much affection Seoho thinks he could cry.

“Oh”

“Oh?”

“Oh” Seoho’s breath hitches—he laughs again, lets Youngjo’s hand fall even more on top of his, warm and a little heavy and somehow _safe_. He finds himself smiling— up to his eyes and his whole body shaking a little. “I didn’t know that”

Youngjo laughs, leans forward a little more—until their foreheads are almost touching and their breaths are mixing and turning to nothing (again, just like back in Youngjo’s house—except, this time, Seoho’s sure—sure of what he feels and sure of what things mean and—). Seoho breathes out— feels it out of his lips and on Youngjo’s skin—

“I didn’t know you liked me, either” Youngjo’s voice is quieter, now—a whisper against Seoho’s skin. “You confused me a lot”

“Is that so?” Seoho lets his voice come out a little playful, a little more confident—even as he feels his face burn and his eyes are half-closed and it all feels both overwhelming and _perfect_. “It didn’t show” He goes quieter, too, whispers back like it’s only them in the world.

“I thought it did” Seoho shakes his head, plays with his fingers against Youngjo’s palm.

“Maybe I’m just slow” Youngjo’s hand moves, fits against Seoho’s better. Youngjo hums, closes his eyes as if in deep thought. Seoho smiles, huffs out a breath of a laugh.

“Maybe” Youngjo’s eyes open—Seoho’s own close, and then they sink back into silence—breathing warm against each other and hands careful on each other’s. 

It’s comfortable—and Seoho’s happy—happy even if unsure and even if the _what ifs_ in his head are loud and could almost be suffocating.

“Can I—” Youngjo starts, bumps their foreheads together, pauses, licks at his lips—Seoho can feel the ghost of it over his own. He hums, lightly scratches at Youngjo’s palm. “kiss you?”

Seoho frowns, playful— hums louder in thought and tilts his head a little bit to the side. “Maybe?”

“Maybe?” Youngjo frowns, too, hums in deep thought, fingers tapping away against Seoho’s hand. “How do I get you to say yes, then?” his tone is playful as well, face a little closer and other hand warm over Seoho’s thigh.

Seoho laughs, lips ghosting against Youngjo’s—free hand playing with grass under his fingertips and whirlwind quiet quiet _quiet._

“Say _please_?” Seoho’s voice is barely a whisper—barely audible against the distant sound of the city and its people—Youngjo laughs, soft and clear.

“Can I please kiss you, then?”

Seoho laughs—a giggle against Youngjo’s lips before he whispers out an _okay_.

And then Youngjo leans in—closes the little distance between them—brushes their lips together so _lightly_ it almost feels like it’s not real—almost feels like Seoho’s imagining the wind against him and is imagining the warmth and everything—

But it’s real—very real—real in the way Youngjo’s hand is nervous over Seoho’s—over his thigh.

Real in the way he feels himself shaking—in the way he wants to reach out and kiss Youngjo harder when he pulls away.

Real in the way that Youngjo’s there—warm against Seoho and kissing him with so much care Seoho feels like, right now, he’s everything precious there has ever been in Youngjo’s world.

It’s nothing special—the kiss—just a light peck, less than a second before Youngjo pulls away, forehead still warm against Seoho’s and hands sweaty.

Seoho can’t stop smiling—feels laughter bubbling up against the roof of his mouth, lets it spill out in huffs against Youngjo’s skin.

Youngjo laughs, too, soft and a little confused—lets his eyes open and leans away, eyes lovesick and hands still careful on Seoho.

“Where do we go from here?” Youngjo’s voice is a warm blanket against winter air. Seoho lets his eyes open, looks at Seoho with a smile—gives a shrug, a laugh as he leans forward and rubs at his arm.

“Home?” Youngjo cocks an eyebrow, a tiny smirk on his face.

“That fast?” Seoho snorts—reaches forward to hit at Youngjo’s arm as he laughs. Youngjo laughs, too, stops Seoho’s blow and holds his hand carefully. “We’re not even dating yet?”

Seoho shakes his head, pulls his and Youngjo’s hands back so they’re close to his chest—so he can let go of Youngjo’s other hand on the floor and bring both hands to wrap around Youngjo’s. “What should we do about that, hm?” his tone is playful—even if his hands are shaking over Youngjo’s, even if his breathing is leaving him and the world feels all too bright and all too cold.

Youngjo smiles—honest and loving, moves his hand so he can properly hold one of Seoho’s. “Be my boyfriend, maybe?”

Seoho laughs, again, brings their joined hands up and a little closer so he can hide his mouth behind them—eyes half-closed and smile way too wide.

“Yeah” Youngjo pulls their joined hands, lowers them until he can see Seoho’s face properly—until Seoho can’t hide anymore. He looks at Youngjo’s eyes for a second—then closes his eyes, breathes out before he opens them again. “I’d like that a lot, I guess”

Youngjo smiles a little wider— fangs peeking out and eyes half closed. “I’d like it a lot, too”

————

Seoho’s not sure how to walk around things— where lines are drawn in relationships and how much he can—he’s not sure how much he’s supposed to say or when—

But it’s fine— he has time, time to figure things out and breathe—

(When he thinks too much, when his head is loud and his feelings in disarray—Youngjo’s willing to talk, willing to listen and willing to give him silence.

“I don’t mind if you take your time” With a kiss to his cheek, a caress to his hand.

“It’s okay to take your time—to sort yourself out” A whispers against Seoho’s skin—sitting on the couch of Youngjo’s apartment, Youngjo’s ears twitching and tickling at Seoho’s skin.

Seoho breathes, raises a hand—buries it in Youngjo’s hair, in little curls and against the base of his ears—lightly scratches and hums, pretends he wasn’t thinking, pretends his brain wasn’t turning so _loud_ he couldn’t hear his own breathing.

Youngjo laughs against him—gets a little closer, nose warm and kind on Seoho’s neck—on his cheek, a peck right by his ear.

“I can always wait.”)

(Seoho likes to pretend Youngjo doesn’t make him choke up—likes to pretend every kind gesture doesn’t take him away and into a spiral that’s as lovely as it is terrifying—

Seoho likes to pretend—even as he buries his face in Youngjo’s hair and laughs, choked at the back of his throat and a mixture of _shut up, you’re so corny_ and _thank you_.)

He’s not sure how to tell anyone, how to tell Hwanwoong and Dongju and even Keonhee—figures he doesn’t have to, but they’ve seen him suffer over this, so he also figures they deserve some closure. He considers calling them all over to his room and laying out the news, considers calling them outside together with Youngjo—so they can see him hold Youngjo’s hands and just assume on their own—he considers many things, many ways.

He considers a lot, ends up settling for making a group chat (because he’s not good at face-to-face serious conversations, because he doesn’t want to make it a big deal, because he’s thinking too much again—).

He drags Keonhee, Hwanwoong and Dongju in, greets with a very simple

_hi_

_guess whos dating now_

(And the response is incredibly quick—starting with Keonhee immediately calling him, congratulating him so wholeheartedly Seoho kind of wants to both cry and tease him forever—

 _“I’m really so happy for you” A pause, Seoho shrugs, lets out a quiet_ eh _sound into the phone “I hope it goes well, you deserve it._

_Seoho laughs at that, shakes his head and tries for denial—Keonhee interrupts, sounding angry and more than a little worked up_

_“I mean it! Really!”_

_Seoho pretends he doesn’t hear Keonhee calling him_ one of the best people he’s met, _mostly because he doesn’t want to emotionally exhaust himself before Hwanwoong and Dongju get to him._

_“Thanks, sap”_

_Keonhee tries not to sound offended at that—he fails, but it only makes Seoho laugh harder._

Hwanwoong’s next, as soon as Seoho steps inside the apartment—he hugs the life out of him, makes Seoho squawk and nearly hit his head on the wall. Hwanwoong’s not too wordy, he’s not Keonhee—simply hugs him for a while, mutters a very quiet congratulations—

And Seoho finds it kind of funny, really—because it sort of mirrors how _he_ congratulated Hwanwoong when he got told about Dongju—awkward hugging and some head-patting— words stuck in his throat in quiet laughter.

But Hwanwoong’s better at saying things still—so, once he lets go, he calls Seoho a _dumbass_ and tells him _he’s happy to see him happy._

Seoho calls _him_ a sap too—as he does with Dongju, when he texts Seoho a _congrats be happy u stupid hyung_ followed by something like _youre a very good person so if he hurts u :)._

Seoho laughs— giggles as he types up a _please don’t threaten my boyfriend so soon_.)

It’s weird, really, at least for Seoho—how naturally it all seems to just _fall_ into place—how he spends the first week of break and even Christmas cuddling with Youngjo over at his house, scratching his ears and sometimes playing with his tail just for fun.

(Geonhak complains—makes faces at them from the kitchenette and more than once begs them to get a _room_ —

Seoho kind of wants to tease him—but Youngjo wins, hand on Seoho’s hair as he replies that _Geonhak_ (a sigh) _we don’t have more rooms._

Geonhak rolls his eyes at that, mutters something about annoying roommate as he goes and drops on the couch next to them—ears alert and curious and very decided on discussing the logics of cat nutrition with Seoho that night.

Seoho plays along, Youngjo comfortably sitting on his lap—half-paying attention to the discussion that morphs into catnip and then into rodents and then into nothing and everything at all—

This, too, falls easy—natural and fills Seoho’s heart to the brim with things he still can’t find a name for.)

Seoho’s not sure of many things, but he has _time_ —he has time and he has Youngjo holding his hand and his friends to tease him to death—

He has a lot of things, just like he has a lot of doubts.

(One night, this time at Seoho’s house, Dongju and Hwanwoong doing something or the other in the living room and Youngjo sitting against him—it hits Seoho.

Hits him that he’s tasted happiness—and it hits him that the feelings might have a name, that they might be changing with time and with seasons—

Hits him that feelings are complex—they’re not doing away—

That, just like that, just like everyone, he’s _human_ —today, tomorrow, yesterday too—

And things are scary, and things lack logic and don’t fall into place—and puzzle pieces aren’t perfect anymore, and maybe _his_ are all crooked and out of place still—

But he’s still himself—

It hits him hard—hard enough to make him cry, a choked sob against Youngjo’s hair. Youngjo makes a noise, worry as he leans his face up, kisses at Seoho’s cheek with a frown.

He doesn’t ask what’s wrong—simply holds Seoho and lets him breathe—lets him remember to calm down and Seoho remembers he’s _human_ —

He holds on tight—Youngjo now in front of him, soft and kind and as loving as always—lets Youngjo kiss away tears and sobs that are quiet and don’t make sense.)

(“I think” Seoho’s voice is quiet, a whisper against Youngjo—they’re under the covers now, warm and safe against each other. “I think I could fall in love with you”

Youngjo smiles at that, leans forward and kisses at Seoho’s lips.

“That’s good” Another kiss—Youngjo’s hands kind on Seoho’s—his _stupid_ raspy tongue against Seoho’s skin for a second as Youngjo sticks it out, teasing. “’cause I think I could fall in love with you too.”)

**Author's Note:**

> [twt](https://twitter.com/frosmxths)
> 
> [cc](https://curiouscat.me/frosmxths)
> 
> ykno like nya
> 
> let me know if i missed any tags or important typos>>


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